


Say My Name And I Shall Be Yours

by ReadySalted1



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Aethelrik, Alternate Universe, F/M, Forbidden Love, Romance, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2020-03-17 04:04:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 39,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18957508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReadySalted1/pseuds/ReadySalted1
Summary: An alternate storyline for Season 3.Aethelflaed is a wife, a warrior, a mother, a survivor. After her husband tries to kill her, she flees Mercia with the help of Uhtred and discovers she might have a slow burn of feelings for him...





	1. Chapter 1

She was surprised when he said her name in his sleep. It was just a whisper, a breathing out of what he could no longer hold inside him.

_Aethelflaed._

She could have lived on the sound of her own name on his lips. She dare not move. Her body was an arrow taught in a bow. She waited. The crickets moaned and horses whipped their tails and the wind shifted in the dark but in this corner of the stable there was nothing but the sound of her pulse quickening and his soft breath.

Aethelflaed had allowed herself to imagine this moment once before: years ago when she was a girl drunk on infatuation, before she married Aethelred. She imagined herself as Gisela, imagined herself strong enough to hold this man and not break, imagined herself laying next to him, just breathing the same air.

She hadn’t allowed herself to dream more than that: in truth she didn’t know what to dream. The thought of a touch was enough to give her goosebumps and it was enough just to imagine the beginning and nothing more. The dream would never come to fruition so there was no harm in stretching it out in the dark of her bedroom and rolling her mind around it.

Uhtred.

There had never been a time in her life when she hadn’t known him.

She hadn’t thought of her teenage infatuation in many years. She pushed the memory from her mind. She was a different person now. A woman. A wife. An adulteress. A lover. A mother. A warrior.

A soft noise broke her concentration. Footsteps? A horse shifting in the dark?

A figure moved through the darkness at the other end of the barn. Finan. His silhouette briefly visible as he slipped out of the barn doors to piss in the bushes. A snore rang out from one of the men sleeping as the door slipped shut.

She looked back at Uhtred, his strength somehow present even in his most vulnerable state. He was three arms lengths away from her, spread out on a soft pile of hay, his fur cloak tucked around him, his hand on his sword. He was guarding even in his sleep. She waited. He did not say her name again.

 

*

 

“Did you sleep much Lady?” Sihtric passed her a flask of water, the morning sun just breaking the grey dawn and dew.

“A little.” She drank thankfully and smiled back at him. She untangled her auburn hair with her fingers as Uhtred’s men prepared their horses for the journey ahead.

“Hey don’t go sharing your drink with every noble woman you meet Sihtric, she’ll think you’re flirting with her,” Finan smirked as he tied his bedroll to his horse.

“Ay and you shouldn’t be milking every cow you meet or they might get the wrong idea,” Sihtric shot back with a laugh, ducking out of the way as a knob of bread flew towards his head. “Don’t waste your breakfast!” He whooped and hollered, clasping hands with Rypere as Finan rolled his eyes.

Aethelflaed covered her laugh as a small coughing fit and folded her sheepskin into the leather strap of her saddle.

“Sihtric.”

The command in his voice was undeniable: he could silence crowds of men with a single word.

She didn’t need to turn around, she had memorized his voice years ago, his tone unmistakable but still her hand slipped on the saddle belt. He’d startled her and he hadn’t even said her name.

“Go get Osferth. Tell him we’re leaving. I’m sick of his prayers in the woods.”

Sihtric ducked his head and obeyed as the laughter and smiles returned to their preparation in haste.

“Lady.” His hands were wound around the leather strap of her saddle before she could protest. She brushed soot from her cloak, having slept with it wrapped around her in the hay, and stole a glance at his face. There was a fresh cut above his left eye, a reminder of what they’d survived in the recent days.

“Are they still following us?” She knew the answer but she wanted to hear his voice. She hated her sudden need for it.

He shrugged as he pulled the strap taught.

“They will come for us even if we don’t see them yet. I do not think Aethelred will stop until I put Serpent Breath through his pig gut. And even then, who knows if it will end his madness.”

She breathed out. She knew her husband would never stop. She was a prize he seemed determined to destroy by his own hand. She nodded to acknowledge his words. She wasn’t ready to leave Mercia but what good was she as a leader if she was dead?

“He will not harm you Aethelflaed. We will not allow it.” Uhtred’s confidence was unflinching.

Finan’s voice broke the morning air. “Lord we best be moving. Osferth spotted smoke in the distant hills. They can’t be far.”

Uhtred nodded. “We ride.”

Aethelflaed couldn’t help herself. “To where?”

Uhtred smiled. “North.”


	2. Chapter 2

Three weeks prior. 

“Im sorry, what did you say my Lady?” Beocca leaned forward, unsure he had heard her correctly. The candles flickered in the path of his heightened breathing, anger blooming on his ageing face. Thyra placed her hand across his. 

Aethelflaed paused. 

“My husband plans to kill me. I’m no longer safe here.” 

She wasn’t sure she’d ever been safe here but her estate in Mercia was the closest she had come to the illusion of safety since she had lived in Wintchester with her parents. She’d been safe but she’d never been free: she had been the property of her father, the pupil of her mother’s rules, all before becoming the prisoner of her husband’s jealousy. His hands had ached her bones, had bruised her body as if she were a garden in spring, had insulted her honor and allowed her to be kidnapped. 

Erik.

She took a deep breath. She would not cry, not again, not here, not now. This moment was for survival and survive she must. 

“I plan to leave in the morning and I require your assistance.”

She paused again, aware of what danger she was asking them both to put themselves in. Thyra smiled at her and leaned forward, her song-voice a dance Aethelflaed loved to hear.

“Whatever you need from us Aethelflaed, know we are here for you. Always.”

Beocca seemed mesmerized by his wife, a small smile on his face but he turned serious as he remembered their company.  
“We shall tell your father my Lady.”

“No.” Aethelflaed was quick and firm. “No I will not tear Mercia and Wessex apart. It’s complicated - so much was sacrificed—“ her voice caught in her throat, the memory of his blonde hair unraveling around her in the dark, his neck tattoo a corner of the world she could die in. “So much was sacrificed for my safety, for Wessex, I cannot risk it just yet. I need a plan but first I need help.”

“We will help you my Lady.” 

“You might not like my plan.”

“We do God’s bidding.”

Aethelflaed almost laughed. God’s bidding. Was it God’s bidding that she be raped every night by her husband for weeks that first year? Was it God’s bidding she bear his insults and bruises? Was it God’s bidding she watch the only man she’d ever loved be murdered by the hands of his brother? What a cruel joke this God her people loved so much was. She smiled at Father Beocca.

“God works in mysterious ways Father. For we must go seek the aid of a pagan.”

Father Beocca swallowed hard and touched his crucifix. “He does seem to be the answer for so many problems.” 

Thyra smiled. “Uhtred will want to help.” 

Aethelflaed nodded. “We leave in the morning. At dawn. You should get some rest.” She paused, “and Thank you.”

Her mind wandered as the three rose from the dinner table, the fire in the fire pit a memory gnawing at the death of a life she almost had. Strange how the moment in her life she felt most free was when she had been a prisoner of her people’s enemies.


	3. Chapter 3

Four years prior.

He dismissed the guard outside her door and paused before he opened it. He knew what he wanted, he had avoided her for days so he wouldn’t be tempted but the pull he felt, the insatiable need to look at her just once more, had dragged him from his bed while Beamfleot slept.

The door creaked as he slipped inside. Her candle was lit and she set down her book when he entered.

“Erik? Is everything alright?”

“Aethelflaed.”

It wasn’t a question or an answer, just a hesitation. He stared at her, hardly breathing, unable to move any closer.

“Yes?”

She stood up from the small bed, her face curious and concerned.

“Are you alright? Is everything okay?”

His stomach flipped. She was concerned about him. But who wouldn’t be - he had burst into her room in the middle of the night and was just standing there, staring at her.

She glanced down at the book she held in her hands, her mouth searching for some words to fill the silence, but she gave up and searched his eyes instead.

“I - I wanted to make sure you were alright. That you had everything - everything you need,” He stammered. Looking into her eyes was like staring into the sun. He had been able to maintain his composure before now but now he was half wild with desire. His eyes raked down her body before he looked away, embarrassed. His hands ached in longing but —

She stepped towards him. She did not look away from his face as if she was memorizing every tattoo, every scar, every imperfection.

His heart was a horse racing in the froth of the sea on the shore. He forgot Sigefrid, he forgot Wessex, forgot the hundreds of Danes who slept outside these doors hungry for silver. In one step he closed the distance between them. His hand found her jaw, his fingers wound up into her hair, his body pressed against hers. He could hardly breathe. He paused, his lips so close to what he longed for.

“Aethelflaed.” He whispered her name like a prayer.

Her eyes were so close he could have climbed inside of them.

“Yes?” She whispered.

The space between them disappeared, his mouth found her lips, gentle, searching until she bit his lower lip. He moaned, pushing his tongue inside of her, his hands finding her waist and she pulled herself against him, her hands searching, wanting; she wanted _him_ , he realized. Without breaking their embrace, he led her to the small bed in the corner of the room, and blew out the candle.

*

That first night he stayed with her, Aethelflaed did not sleep. She watched his chest rise and fall in the sliver of the moonlight that spilled into her prison in the stables. She imagined telling her younger self that she would someday be kidnapped by Danes, held in a prison, and eventually fall in love with a kind Viking warrior. She smiled in the dark. Love. She traced the scars on Eric’s body and thanked each for healing, for bringing him closer to her.


	4. Chapter 4

Beocca, Thyra, Aethelflaed and four members of her household guard left in the morning mist. Aethelflaed’s daughter Aelfwynn was traveling to Winchester with her maid and a dozen guards. She would be safe with Alfred and Aelswith for now. There was no doubt in her mind that Aethelred would use their daughter against her and she had given instructions for her parents to keep her daughter until she could send for her. 

Time was meant to heal but Aethelflaed knew the undeniable truth that Aelfwynn was Erik’s fresh and blood had really held her together. Years had passed since Erik’s death - she did not wake screaming in the dark anymore, she did not even weep for she had literally drained herself of tears that first month after Beamfleot - but now she woke to Erik’s eyes every time she looked at her daughter. 

Her husband had told the Mercian court when she returned that she was traumatized and unstable - that terrible things had happened to her - a stage whisper he was fond of spilling when she was standing nearby. And he wasn’t wrong. Terrible things had happened to her - they just weren’t the things he imagined they were. 

He suspected her when she was pregnant. He screamed for weeks, beat her with his rings on, refused her food on several occasions. She never spoke about Erik to Aethelred - she never uttered his name - she could not bear it to be taken from her. So she did not speak when her husband accused her of being a whore, of being spoiled. His jealousy was a fearsome beast, it always had been. He was free to sleep with serving girls and rape milk maids and accuse his wife of treason. 

She refused to acknowledge his threats and instead worked to establish herself among the ealdorman of Mercia and Wessex. She attended witans, she listened and offered advice. She took hold of decisions in the lands she had gained in her marriage and she attended strategy meetings about war and trading with the Danes. She grew stronger each day, grateful to have something to do with her mind and hands, and she carried Erik inside of her. 

The years that stretched between her and Erik grew longer. Some nights if she laid still in the dark before she fell asleep she could almost hear him breathing beside her but it was too painful and she stopped trying to conjure him, stopped imagining his laugh and taste. 

He had been with her last night though, her mind swimming with memories of him. The terror of survival was rife through her body, she was sure she would cry at any moment when speaking to Thyra. She was reminded of her ill-fated escape from Beamfleot, and the insane power and anxiety and fear that pulsed through her that day. They had been hunted; she survived, he had not. She did not know if she would be so lucky this time and she did not want more people she cared for to die. Aethelflaed knew her husband would chase her, he was bloodthirsty and determined: the taste of a kingship was in his grasp. 

“Are you well Aethelflaed?” Thyra broke her concentration as her horse sided up next to her. 

Aethelflaed shook her head. 

“I do not know.” Her voice was thick but she smiled at her friend. “I hope we will not fail.” 

Thyra smiled back. “Uhtred will help us. There is no safer place than with him. I swear.” 

Aethelflaed nodded, she knew it to be true. She trusted Uhtred more than any man, trusted him to protect her with his life.


	5. Chapter 5

“Lord - your sister is here.” 

Uhtred looked up from the flames leaping above the hearth in the great hall of Dunholm. Sihtric stood before him, chest heaving with the urgency he had brought the news with him. 

“Father Beocca is with her.” 

Uhtred stood up. He knew this was trouble. Beocca was the last person he wanted to see right now; he would not forgive him for what Uhtred had done to Alfred. But Uhtred could not forgive Alfred. Not yet.

The sky was grey. A crow bellowed from the forest beyond the walls. 

Thyra embraced Uhtred as he arrived in the courtyard, her face flushed with excitement. Danes milled around sharpening swords and drinking ale. Beocca looked uncomfortable at the number of men in the fort. Aethelwold was no where to be seen but Uhtred was sure he was watching.

Ragner was looking Beocca over. “This man makes you happy Thyra? A Christian priest?” 

Thyra laughed, “Be kind Ragner. Beocca is my life now. And I am Christian as well.” 

Uhtred frowned. “You came just the two of you? All the way to Dunholm?”

“Does a sister need a reason to see her brothers?”

Beocca cleared his throat. “I have a message for Uhtred. From Alfred. It is his official banishment - I must deliver it in person and I thought Thyra would be up for the journey.”

Uhtred rolled his eyes while Ragner shrugged, “Whatever you say priest. Thyra come by the fire - there’s food and ale. You must be tired.”

Beocca looked like he wanted to say more but Uhtred turned to follow his siblings, “Tell me later Beocca. I do not wish to hear Alfred’s voice out of your ass just yet.” 

*

Two days passed before Beocca managed to steal a moment with Uhtred alone. There had been war councils night and day since Uhtred had arrived here, long discussions about when to march on Alfred and he was weary. He did not want to march back to Wessex. And he also did not want to speak with the priest. He had known Beocca since he was a Saxon child, a lifetime ago. He did not want to hear what Alfred has sent him to say.

“Uhtred.” 

Beocca found him on the edge of the west wall of Dunholm, stealing a moment of silence from the never ending arguments inside the war council. 

“Father Beocca.” Uhtred kept his arms crossed as he gazed out into the darkness beyond the fortress. “Say what you have come to say and be done with it.”

“Alfred did not send me.”

That was not what Uhtred expected. He searched the old priest’s face for a lie, a hesitation, but he just looked tired. He must have travelled for many nights to bring his message.

“If not Alfred, then who?”

“Aethelflaed.”

Uhtred dropped his arms and turned to face him. An ocean wave leapt and fell in his stomach. 

“What’s happened? Tell me Beocca.”

“Aethelred wishes his wife dead -“

“Piece of weasel shit.”

“- and he has already tried once and failed. It was too close Uhtred. She could not stay there -“

“Stay there? What do you mean? Where is she?”

Beocca glanced over his shoulder before turning towards the darkness beyond the fort.

“She is here. Hiding in the forest beyond the walls.” 

“Here?! Haesten is here. Bloodhair is here. Aethelwold is here plotting with them - this is not the place to bring her to to find safety -“

“She would not go anywhere else Lord. She came here for you.” 

Damn his oaths. Damn Wessex. Damn Alfred. Damn Saxon and Dane. He just wanted to be Uhtred of Bebbanburg. Uhtred Ragnarsson. He wanted his family back if only for a chance to say goodbye. He wanted to be his own and nothing more. He wanted impossible things.

But he had sworn his oath to her. 

Beocca cleared his throat. “It was Aethelwold who suggested Aethelred rid himself of his wife. To clear his path towards Alfred’s throne.”

Uhtred shook his head, anger filling his throat. He did not want to be bound and yet he already knew his answer.

“She says you are free of your oath Uhtred. She only wishes to speak to you.” 

He released the breath he did not realize her had been holding. He would go to her. He had to hear what she had to say.


	6. Chapter 6

The moon slipped between the clouds and tree branches as Uhtred shadow walked through the forest. He had left Finan and Osferth at Dunholm and Sihtric trailed Uhtred through the forest. He unsheathed his dagger, each step slow and silent as the forest breathed around them.

Finan’s words echoed in his ears. “If she’s asked for you Lord, you will not deny her. Of that we can be sure.”

They had been walking for almost an hour before Sihtric paused and pointed. Through the bramble bushes was a canvas tent and several horses. Three men slept on the ground outside of the tent while a fourth was hunched over against a tree stump. He had clearly fallen asleep while on guard.

Two shadow walking Danes, four sleeping guards and a princess. Uhtred shook his head. It was too dangerous for her to be here.

Uhtred and Sihtric circled the hidden camp before Sihtric stayed with the horses, soothing them with his hands and voice as Uhtred shadow walked into Aethelflaed’s tent.

She was asleep. He knew she would be but it had been at least a year since he had last seen her. He paused as he took her in before dropping to the side of her makeshift cot. He slipped his hand firmly over her mouth as he breathed her name.

“Aethelflaed.”

She opened her eyes. They were not full of the terror he had expected. She had survived too much he realized and removed his hand.

She pushed herself up on her arm, brushing the sleep from her eyes but she had moved quickly and they were only inches from each other when she spoke.

“Uhtred. I have released you from your oath.”

He searched her face. She was not a sleeping princess. She was not the girl he had watched grow up or the teenager he had rescued or the young mother he had witnessed raising her first child. No this was a different woman altogether. And she did not come to trick him. She came to live.

“You are not safe here my Lady.”

She frowned thoughtfully.

“I am not safe anywhere Lord. But that is why I’ve come. To ask for your help. You are my only hope Uhtred.”

He wanted to run, to leap onto a horse outside this tent and ride with the sun until there was no more land to race. But he could not look away, not yet. He did not know how else to describe it but he was bound. Oath or no oath.

*

She woke to her name in the dark. The world was silent.

_Erik._

She would know his touch anywhere, know the way her name sounded as it spilled from his lips, quiet and desperate, a torch in the night. She opened her eyes, ready.

Uhtred’s face was full of confusion as she looked up into his blue eyes. She sat up. Of course he had come. She had not doubted it, only steadied herself, ready for him.

“Uhtred.” She wiped the corner of her eyes — were there tears? She was not sure if they were sorrow for the ghost of Erik she had longed for or relief at the fierce warrior who knelt before her. She was filled with relief at the sight of him.

“I have released you from your oath.”

She watched his face, searching for the answer she needed. He was just inches from her, breathing in the same air, his eyebrows drawn darkly over his eyes. She had not seen him in so long and she memorised the new scars decorating his face.

“You are not safe here my Lady.”

She frowned. Safe? She had not felt safe in many years, not since she was a girl, but perhaps others did not realise the fear she had grown accustomed to behind the walls of Aethelred’s home.

She hesitated. There was a moment. She had buried it deep inside of herself, it was a memory too white hot to touch and she had dug its grave years ago. A moment when she had not feared those who hunted her or beat her. A moment in her greatest grief.

The night that Erik had died. Uhtred and his men had taken her by ship to safety, rowing away from Beamfleot like mad men, the fort burning behind them. She had wept uncontrollably like a small child, the salt air licking her stained face, and he had wrapped her in his arms. She had folded herself inside his cloak, the impossible strength of his body holding her together, and she let herself howl for the life she could not have. There. On the bow of the ship on the river Thames Aethelflaed had felt momentarily safe. In Uhtred’s arms.

“I am not safe anywhere Lord. But that is why I’ve come. To ask for your help. You are my only hope Uhtred.”


	7. Chapter 7

Finan was restless. They should have been back by now. He tried to sleep but he was on edge — what if they’d not found Aethelflaed? What if something had gone wrong? He didn’t normally worry about such things; Uhtred was his Lord and his brother and he trusted him with his life. As he’d once told Ragner, they were bound to one another. They had survived a life no man should be forced to live and still they survived, together.

But tonight his mind would not rest. He didn’t want to fight against Wessex; but the arrival of Lady Aethelflaed also left the potential of being at war with two sides and he wasn’t so keen on that either.

The council of Danes had talked late into the night; as Uhtred’s second in command he listened to all the conversations, making note of who was angry about what but also keeping tabs on what Aethelwold was plotting. Prick. He wanted Alfred’s crown and would seemingly stop at nothing to get it, including orchestrating the murder of his extended family. He was a bug waiting to be crushed under a boot.

Normally Finan loved to berate Aethelwold, but tonight he had laid low - he didn’t want Uhtred’s absence to be more apparent and he bit his tongue on more than one occasion. As the fires burned out and the crowd thinned, Finan rose to take his leave to his sleeping quarters. Osferth had fallen asleep hours ago, mumbling prayers when Finan had last checked on him.

“Where’s your Lord, Finan?”

Finan smirked. “I hear he’s found himself a woman tonight, Aethelwold.” The joke was lost but the prince just shrugged.

“We all need a woman from time to time. I was surprised he was not here to defend Alfred. It looks like we shall be marching sooner than we thought and yet Uhtred is no where to be seen.”

It was Finan’s turn to shrug. “He has given his oath to Ragnar. You heard him.”

Aethelwold drained the bottom of his ale into his mouth. “We both know Uhtred does not just walk out of Wessex; the Dane Slayer does not just become the Saxon Slayer.”

Finan shook his head, “You’re wrong there Aethelwold. Uhtred would gladly let you become the first Saxon for him to slay.”

And he turned and left Aethwold standing in the doorway; the cold bristling at his beard as he smiled to himself. What a wanker.

That must have been hours ago now. The moon was a forest fire in the night sky: it was as if the sun was awake as well this cold night. Finan listened to Osferth snore and men in the courtyard shuffle to their beds until finally in the quietest part of the night, footsteps approached the room.

Uhtred appeared in the flash of moonlight as the door swung open illuminating Finan’s face, awake and alert.

“Uhtred.”

Finan’s voice was hardly a whisper, just loud enough to be heard over Osferth’s snores. Uhtred knelt next to him, stretching his hands to warm them.

“We leave the day after tomorrow.”

Finan nodded but realized Uhtred might not be able to see him so he said “Yes Lord.” He paused. “Where is Sihtric?”

“I’ve left him with Aethelflaed. Her guards are weasel shit. He will keep her safe until we can leave with her.”

“Where are we going?”

Uhtred hesitated. The plan was formulating in his mind and he didn’t want to reveal too much too quickly - things might have to change. He had dreamt for this moment many times and he wasn’t yet sure if he would succeed but —

“Bebbanburg. We ride towards Bebbanburg.”


	8. Chapter 8

Every night since Gisela’s death, Uhtred had dreamt of her. She was always barefoot and smiling, walking towards him as if through a strange mist or an early morning. Sometimes she spoke to him or sang a soft song but more often than not they sat in silence with her hands in his hair, staring at each other. When he woke, he could smell her on his skin - like fresh herbs and earth. Most nights the dreams were so vivid, so real he would choke back tears when he woke to the sun and she was not there beside him. He could not imagine life now without her, as the warmth of her in his dreams evaporated each morning like a cruel joke. 

It had been months now but the ache was constant, a humming he tried to ignore — and life had not been easy. He had killed a priest, threatened Alfred, escaped Wessex, travelled to Dunholm, and swore loyalty to his brother and the Danes. He allowed himself to be distracted and each night as he fell asleep exhausted he prayed to Odin that he might meet Gisela in his dreams.

It was almost dawn when he returned from meeting Aethelflaed, Finan had waited for him and the Irishman’s relieved snores soon filled the dark as Uhtred closed his eyes, ready to see his wife if only for a few hours.

Gisela was waiting for him, as if he were late. He pushed open the gate to Coccham and she was there, barefoot in the dirt, a basket of flowers and vegetables balanced on her hip, a smirk on her face as if she were annoyed by his arrival. 

“My love come here,” she called to him and turned to go inside the hall they had built together, made into a home, and raised their children inside of. 

She was always two steps ahead of him it seemed; he stretched out to catch her hand but he could not reach it. 

“Sit my love.” 

She was breaking stems off of plants at the table, not quite meeting his eye.

He sat across from her, his eyes roaming her face, her soft curves, the jingle of her bracelets against her wrist. He had never seen anyone so beautiful, he longed to touch her skin but she interrupted his thoughts -

“She has come for you.” 

He paused, confused until he realized who Gisela meant — “Aethelflaed? Yes she is here, waiting in the forest with Sihtric - we will have to go North. Aethelred tried to kill her - he sent a man in the middle of the night to slit her throat - and tried to poison her food — it’s a miracle she’s alive.”

Gisela snapped the ends of beans, the crisp breaking sound strangely melodic. 

“It will not be easy. I am sure Aethelred will hunt her - she is between him and Alfred’s throne and he does not believe her daughter is his so he might murder Alfwynn as well.”

Gisela watched him silently, nodding for him to continue processing his plan.

“It’s possible Alfred will send men after Aethelflaed — Steapa will do his bidding and they will likely suspect she is with me.” He sighed, the real problem gnawing at him as he rubbed his hands over his face. “And I must leave Ragnar. I must abandon the Danes and take her somewhere safe - help her get a ship to Frankia or Ireland - which means I cannot stay and fight this war.” 

He picked at the corner of the wooden table, tracing the lines he himself had cut in his waking life. 

“I do not know if I can leave my brother.” He couldn’t look at her as he admitted it. “I do not know if I can bear to lose anymore of my family.” 

She stopped snapping the beans and sat down slowly as she took both of his hands on hers. His rough hands dwarfed hers but she was not dainty or weak: there was strength in her fingers, years of survival and motherhood woven into her lifelines. She smiled at him. 

“It is time Uhtred.” 

“Time? Time for what?” He was confused. This was his dream and he needed her council, her reassurance. “For Bebbanburg?”

“It is time for you to stop dreaming and start living.” 

“What? What about Ragnar? What should I do Gisela?”

She smiled and shook her head. “She has come for you Uhtred.” 

“What?” He truly did not understand her. He was suddenly fearful this dream was coming to an end and he tried to hold onto her hands and wrists. “Gisela I need you.” He felt the choke in his throat, as if he was in need of surfacing for air. 

“Do not be afraid Uhtred.” 

“Gisela!”

“— Uhtred? Lord?” 

He felt the sharp nudge as she disappeared and Osferth’s face came into view. The sun was a sharp glare behind him as he stopped shaking Uhtred’s shoulders. 

“Lord, you were —“ Osferth looked away and cleared his throat. “You were shouting the Lady Gisela’s name Lord.” 

Uhtred wiped the moisture from his eyes as he sat up and cleared his throat. 

“Thank you, Osferth.” 

Osferth glanced back at Uhtred’s face before diverting his gaze. The silence was too much.

“Finan said we will be leaving tomorrow Lord?”

Uhtred took a deep breath, he could almost feel the warmth of her on his skin. “Yes. Tomorrow we will leave. You will need to ready the horses and our supplies but quietly. We do not want questions.” 

Osferth nodded and stood up. 

“Lord?”

Gisela’s words were wound around his mind and he could not stop wondering what she had been talking about. Why didn’t she reassure him on his path? He had always shared his problems and decisions with her - they had discussed each outcome and walked this life together. How could she abandon him when he needed her? He felt sick. 

“Uhtred?”

“Yes?”

Osferth looked uncomfortable but took a deep breath. “We all loved her Lord. But she is with us still. Do not be afraid Uhtred.”

Uhtred looked up at Alfred’s bastard son in surprise.

“What did you say?” He wanted to hear Gisela’s voice but -

“She is still with us Lord. Do not be afraid.”

Osferth left the room and Uhtred stared at his hands. Last night he had held his wife in his dreams and he was terrified it was the final time at last. 

He did not want to think about Gisela’s words but they lingered in the air.

She has come for you.


	9. Chapter 9

“What do you mean you’re leaving?”

Ragnar was sure he’d misheard his brother. When Uhtred had asked to speak to him privately this was not what he had expected him to say.

“Where are you going?” Ragnar felt rage waking inside of him as betrayal boiled in his throat.

He took deep breaths as he watched his younger brother close his eyes and open them again. The silence was deafening as the Danes in the great hall laughed and yelled outside of Ragnar’s sleeping quarters.

“I cannot fight this war Ragnar. I am leaving tomorrow.”

Uhtred had side stepped Ragnar’s questions and that only made him angrier.

“So you are going back to Alfred then? Like his little pet?” He threw what was in his hand across the room - his anger surging. What was it that he had thrown? A cup of ale? A knife? He had been squeezing whatever it was so hard in his hand he had an imprint from the handle.

Brida pushed the door open at the clatter and entered, testing the tension between the two men before closing the door behind her.

“What’s happened?” She asked as she stepped close to Ragnar. Her hand found his, an attempt to calm him but he found his anger had brought tears to his eyes, momentarily blinding him.

“Uhtred is leaving” He spat.

Brida’s face darkened but she did not appear surprised. Uhtred looked ready for her onslaught of words.

“Why?! So you can run back to Alfred and tell him of our plans? You piece of shit. I knew we couldn’t trust you. You have broken your promise too many times - we won’t allow it. Ragnar you will make the square.”

Ragnar’s breath caught in his throat: he had made the same threat himself to many men but now pressed by Brida he didn’t want to say the words.

He stared at Uhtred and Uhtred stared back. The fire hissed in the hearth and somewhere liquid dripped onto the floor - had he knocked over more than one cup of ale? He was locked in his brother’s eyes; a brother who was not blood, a brother who kept breaking his promises, a brother who loved a king more than his family.

Uhtred broke the silence but did not move his gaze.

“I do not ride to Alfred. I ride for Bebbanburg.”

Brida snorted and pointed her dagger at him. “You are Saxon, you bleed Saxon blood and I will gut you myself you lying sack of dirt. You cannot take Bebbanburg without an army - your lies are no good here —“

“I cannot stay here.” Uhtred was calm, his decision was made, this conversation was merely a courtesy. He did not look at Brida or the small knife she waved in her fist. “I love you brother. I could not leave without telling you.”

“If you leave, you are no longer my brother.”

The words were out of Ragnar’s mouth before he could think of what he was saying. A war was raging inside of him; the angry betrayed warrior and the son who had his family stolen from him, the son who longed for a family of his own. He had spent years waiting to have Uhtred by his side, to be warriors together on the same side of the battlefield. He could not bear to have him leave again. Not now when they were so close to their dream - or perhaps it was his dream and had always been only his dream.

Uhtred dropped his gaze to the floor, a gasp escaping his lips. He had not flinched at Brida’s threats but Ragnar’s words had wounded him, it was all over his face.

Brida spit on the ground. “You must choose between us. Stay to live and fight with us or run to your precious Alfred.”

Uhtred looked up at Ragnar, searching his face for a glimpse of hope - a chance to leave and return again. How could he give up his family?

There was a quick rapt on the door before it was flung open. Bloodhair stared at the three of them in surprise — Uhtred stoic, Ragnar seething, Brida with her knife drawn, her body angled between them and the contents of the table spilled and scattered across the floor.

“Ragnar - what is — are you alright?”

The brief flash of vulnerability on Uhtred’s face disappeared. His arrogance returned as he turned towards Bloodhair, his nostrils flared.

“Bloodhair you were not invited in here - don’t you have a witch to bed somewhere?”

Brida was fast - her dagger slashing forward as Uhtred raised his arm a second too late. Her small blade caught the side of his cheek.

“Brida! No!” Ragnar shouted, grabbing her from behind and dragging her backwards. She was seething and spitting, slashing the air between her and Uhtred.

“Come and fight me Uhtred! We shall make the square!” Brida screamed.

Uhtred touched the side of his face and found his blood, a deep scratch, but the wound of Brida’s attack was deeper.

He stared at his oldest friend, his former lover, and knew she would kill him or die trying.

Haeston and Cnut had joined Bloodhair in the room at the sound of Brida’s shouts, gaping at the scene they found but Cnut was quick. He stepped close to Uhtred, placing his hand on Wasp-Sting.

“Ragnar - what do you wish for us to do with your brother?”

Uhtred watched Ragnar loosen his grip on Brida. A resolve was washing over his face.

“He is not my brother.”

There was a pregnant pause, an intake of breath from the room. Brida was seething with anger but Ragnar kept an arm around her wrist.

“He is a Saxon. So if anyone wishes to challenge him to the square they can. It will be one less sword for us to fight when we meet Alfred.” 


	10. Chapter 10

Bloodhair had hated Uhtred since he had stolen his witch Skade from him; he had dreamt of murdering him for weeks now as they slept in the same fortress. It was only Ragnar who had kept his temper in check as he had not allowed Bloodhair to murder his brother under his roof. 

“We are on the same side now Bloodhair,” Ragnar had claimed. 

But something had changed tonight; the shock and tension in Ragnar’s quarters was palpable and Bloodhair grew excited at the thought of a quarrel, a division among brothers, but this was more than he had hoped for.

“Anyone can challenge him to the square now...” the words dangled in the air before Bloodhair like a laugh. 

Several months ago, Uhtred had captured Bloodhair’s woman, the seer Skade, and held her in a fortress with Alfred. He had done it to shame Bloodhair and gain secrets about his battle plans from Skade. Bloodhair had murdered many women and children outside the gates for hours, screaming for Skade to be returned to him. 

“I will never forgive you Uhtred! I will hunt you until you are cowering under my sword, begging for mercy and then I will gut you like a pig! Return Skade to me now!” His voice had echoed through the night, his hands soaked in peasant blood.

And in the morning her head was on a stake outside of the front gate. Her lightning blonde hair waving in the wind, mud and blood stained through it.

Uhtred would later tell him, across the smokey fires of Dunholm’s great hall, that Skade had tried to curse him and his men. But they were prepared for her; they had heard she was well versed in witchcraft and they did not want to be held for eternity in agony so they killed her swiftly and silently. “To protect the king of course.” 

Bloodhair had envisioned Uhtred’s head on that stake every time he looked at him. Sometimes Uhtred would catch him staring, a strange smile on his face, but Bloodhair would look away and plot his revenge. He knew if it didn’t happen at Dunholm then it would happen after or during the great battle: no one would be able to stop him in the middle of all the commotion. He would murder Uhtred The Dane Slayer. 

Cnut led Uhtred out of Ragnar’s quarters by the shoulders back through the great hall. He shoved Uhtred through the doors and into the courtyard. 

Uhtred steadied himself, quickly glancing around to gain his bearings. He clearly did not want his private business with Ragnar spilled out for all to see but Bloodhair knew it would work to his advantage. 

Aethelwold appeared, slightly intoxicated as his evening had already begun, drawn to the commotion and the chance to provoke Uhtred. 

“Well Uhtred! I see you’ve wasted no time getting into another fight!”

Cnut shot an apprehensive look at Aethelwold. “Was not with me.” 

“Eh well he’s always sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong —“ 

Uhtred spat at Aethelwold. “Says the vermin who would murder his own blood.” 

Aethelwold feigned surprise. “Murder? Whatever are you talking about?” 

Uhtred shook with anger. It was too much to hold Ragnar’s betrayal alongside Aethelwold’s mockery alongside the smug looks on Cnut and Haeston’s faces. 

“Did you or did you not suggest to Aethelred that he should murder his wife?”

“Ha! And so what if I did? That’s one less Princess in our way, one more seed of distress sewn, one more ally in Mercia— the question, Uhtred, is why do you care?” 

Ragnar had followed the small group outside and heard the last exchange of words. He shook his head.

“You would leave us - leave me - for Alfred’s daughter?” 

Uhtred stared at his brother. “No—“

He did not want to lie but he could not tell the truth, he could not jeopardize Aethelflaed. 

Haeston cleaned his teeth with his dagger thoughtfully. “Do you know where Aethelflaed is?” 

Uhtred shook his head. “I have not seen Aethelflead in a year —“

Aethelwold hiccuped and laughed, “Yet you ride to save her now!”

Ragnar growled and Heaston watched Uhtred’s face as Finan approached from the direction of the stables. 

“Aethelwold! I see you’re drunk already and it’s not even dusk yet!” Finan’s cheerfulness rang out, slicing through the tension. “Somebody’s gonna have to put you to bed.” 

“Piss off Finan.” 

“Aw we’ll have to get you a wet nurse to sing ye a wee tune.” 

“Piss OFF Finan!” Aethelwold threw his goblet in what was meant to be the direction of Finan’s head but landed several feet short before he turned and stormed off into the shadows in search of another cup.

“I’m leaving in the morning brother,” Uhtred said quietly to no one but Ragnar. 

Ragnar shrugged. “You can leave tonight —“

“No.” Bloodhair interrupted. 

Haeston and Cnut turned around in surprise. 

“I wish to make the square. I wish to fight Uhtred and seek revenge for my woman. He murdered her and I will put his head on a stake outside the front gate and his ugliness will terrify our enemies.” 

Finan leaned close to Uhtred, “Lord say nothing. We need to leave this place —“

“I will make the square with you.”

“Ugh sweet Jesus —“

“I will make the square and you will stare up at me from the flat of your back and wish you had never uttered these words.” 

Finan rubbed his eyes.   
“Here we go again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt Skade’s storyline wasn’t needed in this alternate universe so chose to have her murdered as an inciting incident between Uhtred and Bloodhair...


	11. Chapter 11

“It’s been too long.” 

“He will be here my lady.” 

“Something must have happened.”

“He will be here.”

Sihtric knew Aethelflaed was right but it wouldn’t do him any good to panic. Not yet. He had his instructions: meet Uhtred at the the northern end of the clearing not far from where Aethelflaed had originally set up camp. It was closer to a water source and provided them better shelter from the Autumn weather. Uhtred said he would meet them at dawn two days after he and Sihtric had shadow walked but the sun was starting to break the tops of the trees now; mid-day was approaching.

If Uhtred did not arrive soon, Sihtric knew he should start north but he was tempted to stay another night. Aethelflaed’s guards were literally worthless, they’d be no help against Danish warriors and Sihtric couldn’t protect Aethelflaed if they came across a party of ten or more men. 

Ten. He could hear Finan laugh. 

“How much longer do we wait?” One of Aethelflaed’s guards named Roose scratched his face.

Sihtric was silent as he thought about not responding. He gazed across the field from their hidden patch of thick evergreens for a long time but Aethelflaed was looking at him. “We wait until I say we no longer wait.” 

Aethelflaed stood up from where she was crouching, “I say we leave.” 

Sihtric tried to hide his surprise as he stared back at her. “Lady,” he stepped closer to her so her guards would not hear his every word. The fallen leaves crunched underneath his boots. “It is a death wish to leave here on our own with these men —“

“These are my guards, good Mercian men. I trust them with my life.”

“Then you shall not live long enough to thank them. We wait.” 

Aethelflaed looked ready to argue when Roose gave a soft shout. “Look! There!” 

He was pointing to the other side of the field clearing — there was a flash of colour through the bramble before several horses burst from the forest. 

Uhtred was unmistakable even at a far distance, his furs wrapped around his shoulders, Serpant Breath glaring in the sun. Finan flanked him on him on the left with Osferth, Rypere and three other men in tow. They were riding fast. 

“Quick! To your horses!” Sihtric commanded as he swept Aethelflaed back to the group of horses and men.

Aethelflaed’s guards untied their beasts as they readied themselves to flee. Sihtric offered a hand up to Aethelflaed, helping her step up into her saddle before he jumped up into his own. He whistled quietly at the others to get their attention. “Stay close!” He hissed. “We are ready to ride at full speed. Aethelflaed up here with me.” 

She pushed her horse forward to fall in close to Sihtric as her four guards followed close behind, turning and watching the forest around them. They rode silently along the edge of the clearing, still hidden by the brush of the forest, towards the river where Uhtred and his men were headed. They would intersect shortly. 

“Look!” It was Roose again. The man never shut up. 

Sihtric turned in his seat, scanning the clearing that Uhtred was racing across only to see at the very edge a small group of men emerged from the forest. Danes. 

“With me!” Sihtric shouted as softly and intensely as he could, turning his horse to cut north and urging her forward. 

They cut as fast and carefully as they could though the forest thick with fallen leaves and bare branches, racing with the river a half mile on their right. “Lady!” He called out “Cover your hair!” 

Aethelflaed used one hand to twist her hair and tuck it inside her cloak before pulling up her hood. Yesterday Sihtric had insisted her guards change out of their distinct royal colored capes so they wouldn’t draw attention when they travelled. There was already something undeniably powerful about Aethelfaed; it wasn’t that she couldn’t blend in, it was that when you were around her you were drawn to her. She needed a disguise but Sihtric had only encouraged her to dress plainly for their journey. They would need a cover story for her but Uhtred would have a plan. 

Sihtric turned quickly to glance behind them: no sign of Uhtred or the Danes. He pushed his horse faster. 

They rode hard for what felt like hours before a soft rain moved in and they stopped for a brief rest under a small patch of Willow trees. 

Sihtric pointed to two of the men, “You keep watch.” He turned and pointed to a third, “You check the horses.” He pointed at Roose. “You get the Lady some water and apples.” 

Aethelflaed tried to protest that she could do it herself but Sihtric cut her off. “Sit or stretch - whatever your body needs. But we only rest a few minutes and we keep riding.” 

She nodded, her worried eyes scanning the path from which they’d come. 

Time inched forward — they caught their breath and Sihtric waited as long as he could. “It’s time my Lady.” 

“Look!” Roose was watching the forest. He was mid-bite into an apple, pointing at the trees in the distance. Through the rain it was almost impossible to tell who rode towards them. 

“We go Lady!” He commanded.

“No.” She said flatly.

He hesitated. He’d been left in charge but he wasn’t sure he could throw Aethelfaed over his shoulder and force her. 

“We must leave now!” Sihtric resolved himself, walking up close to her as her guards watched on, curious who would win and terrified of who was riding towards them. 

Aethelfaed did not tear her eyes away from the small group galloping towards her. 

“No.”

He grunted in frustration and unsheathed his sword. “Weapons. Now!” He shouted to the others. The guards scurried, readying themselves for their own deaths.

Sihtric turned back to Aethelfaed. “We either die or we live today Lady.”

She unsheathed her sword. 

“He is here.”


	12. Chapter 12

There were only six of them: thick Danes with scars and tattoos, wet with rain and sweat. Their silver arm bands and swords were evident: these were warriors. Aethelfaed did not flinch as she watched them; she steadied herself a top her horse, blade ready to meet them.

The six Danes were closing in fast and she could hear one of her guards praying beside her, his words were panicked nonsense. Sihtric cursed under his breath and praised Odin that there were only six as the men got closer. Aethelfaed was pleased he hadn’t asked her to hide behind him; he knew she could fight and he needed her sword or he might not win. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, his tattoo twisting from his ear to his neck. Sihtric had been a young warrior when he joined Uhtred, not much older than Aethelflaed. He was fearsome now, his arms tense, sword and ax in hand. Her heartbeat slowed as she breathed in and out. She was ready.

The ground trembled as the horses approached but the men came to a halt several yards from where Sihtric and the five Saxons stood under the edge of the willow trees. One of the warriors spoke eagerly to a red haired Dane with too much facial hair while pointing at Aethelflaed. The two parties stared at each other before the red haired Dane spoke.

“I am Guthlac - I serve the Lord Haeston.”

“I do not give a shit who you are!” Sihtric called back to the lead horseman. The rain required the men shout to close the distance between them.

Guthlac shifted in his seat, his eyes flickering between Sihtric and Aethelflaed before continuing.

“We have come in search of the Lady Aethelfaed. Our Lord Heaston - uh - requests her company and we will be taking her back to Dunholm with us.”

“Lady who?”

“Lady Aethelflaed of Mercia. Daughter of King Alfred.”

Sihtric shrugged. “Sorry I do not know who you’re talking about.”

Guthlac spat on the ground as the rain spilled down his beard. “We know it’s her turd. Hand her over and we will let you leave this place.”

Sihtric laughed. “This woman is my sister. She’s no lady and she’s certainly not going with you.”

Guthlac rolled his eyes and drew his sword. “Have it your way; I would have killed you anyway.”

The red haired leader spurred his horse forward as he drew out his longsword. The Danes surged forward shouting, their horses’ breath pulsing in the wet Autumn air. They would close the gap in seconds.

As the distance disappeared, one of Guthlac’s men screamed out and slipped from his horse, crashing to the ground, an arrow protruding from his side. The rain hissed around the men and horses; no one hesitated. Aethelflaed glanced towards the thin woods the arrow must have come from but the Danes were upon them.

Sihtric moved forward to meet the attack, sword kissing sword, as Aethelflaed wielded her weapon beside him.

“Grab the Lady,” Guthlac shouted to his remaining men. “I want her alive! Kill the men! We ride back to Dunholm!”

Roose jumped from his horse, tackling one of the Danes to the ground, slashing frantically with his dagger as a brutish face tattooed Dane disembowled one of Aethelflaed’s Mercian guards, prayers still escaping his lips.

Sihtric didn’t have time to worry about which Mercian guard was screaming for mercy like that. His sword was dancing with Guthlac, as their horses rounded one another in the rain and they clashed again and again before Guthlac dragged Sihtric from his horse. Guthlac was a big man and he muscled metal, nearly slicing into Sihtric’s empty shield arm. Sihtric shuffled, keeping Aethelflaed on his left as he pulled his ax from his back and hacked at Guthlac.

The rain made their field a muddy one. Aethelflead’s horse had struggled in the crowded terrain and she found it easier to fight without him. She grunted, stabbing her ugly opponent in the thigh. He dropped and screamed before lunging at her but she kicked up into his face, spraying blood and teeth across the field. She lifted her sword to finish the man but she felt a hand crush her from behind.

A Dane soaked in another man’s blood lifted his sharp dagger to her throat. “Stop or I kill her!”

“No!” Sihtric shouted as he pushed hard against Guthlac.

Aethelfaed’s eyes were glued to Sihtric’s. If she was going to die he was going to be the last person on this earth she would be looking at. A bridge to Uhtred, a bridge to Wessex, a bridge to her daughter.

Somewhere to her left one of her guards retched as his throat was cut.

“It’s over. Surrender boy—“ hissed Guthlac. He grimaced as he put his full weight forward onto his sword; Sihtric winced, maintaining his balance against the much bigger warrior.

The rain seemed to lighten, as Sihtric pushed and Aethelfaed watched and suddenly an arrow whistled, slicing through the air and puncturing Guthlac’s leg. He fell, gasping in pain, shifting his sword up against Sihtric.

“Surrender? You wish to surrender to me?” Finan’s voice cracked through the commotion. He appeared seemingly out of thin air. “Would be an honor.”

He strode up to Guthlac and drove his sword through the man’s throat. Sihtric turned to discover Rypere hacking a Dane to death as Osferth held their horses in the background.

“No one come any closer or I will kill her!” The Dane with his sword to Aethelflaed’s throat could see the tide changing with the arrival of Uhtred’s men and he was panicking. His hand was shaking but he kept a firm grasp on Alfred’s daughter as he stepped backwards over the body of a Mercian guard. “I will slit her throat right here!”

“You will do nothing,” Finan said, his sword at his side as he walked slowly toward the man.

“Don’t come any closer!”

Finan stopped walking. “You can leave here with the Lady still alive. We won’t kill you.”

The man’s eyes flashed from Finan to Sihtric to Guthlac’s body to Roose stabbing the lifeless corpse of a Dane under a Willow tree.

“I - I wish to take the Lady and leave -“

“You will leave but you will not be breathing.”

Uhtred’s voice was a ghost from behind as Wasp Sting slithered across the man’s neck, inches from Aethflaed’s own throat. The man’s gasps and blood sprayed across Alfred’s daughter as she turned around in surprise. The Dane dropped to the ground with a thud, his blood warm and thick across Aethflaed’s skin.

Uhtred. She took in the blood and the scars and the cut across the side of his brow. She took in the shaved sides of his head and the sadness in his eyes and the weariness on his face. He had lived a hundred years since she had seen him two nights ago. “Lord Uhtred,” she breathed.

“Lady,” he managed a small smile in this field of blood and bodies.

She hesitated. Her younger self would have embraced him, would have allowed herself to seek comfort in this person she had known her entire life. She glanced around: six Danes lay dead around her and three of her household guard. Uhtred’s men were watching but averted their eyes when she glanced at them.

She cleared her throat. She must remember her place.

“Thank you all. For your bravery. I will not forget it.” She smiled at them and Finan nodded at her.

Aethelflaed turned back to Uhtred. She looked into his eyes and reached out her hand. She took his bloody grasp in hers. His touch was rough and strong, a power that had murdered hundreds of men. A power that had killed to protect her moments ago. The rain licked their bodies as she stood there with her hand in his.

“Thank you Lord. I will never forget what you have done.”

She dropped her hand and her gaze. The Dane who had held a knife to her throat lay between them, his blood wet in the grass at her feet.

“Was nothing my Lady. Just don’t ever challenge me with your sword - your look alone was fearsome.”


	13. Chapter 13

Bloodhair roared in agony as Cnut twisted his arm back into its socket. He was wounded but he would live; or at least that’s what the healer had told him when she looked over his sliced shoulder.

The fire smoked in the great hall as Bloodhair drowned his cup of ale and watched Haeston pace the floor in front of him.

Heaston looked annoyed at the arriving dark. “My men should have sent word back by now — something must have happened.”

Bloodhair scoffed. “You shouldn’t have sent them after Uhtred - he’s probably killed them-“

“Ragnar shouldn’t have let Uhtred leave in the first place!”

“Yes… He should have let me kill him.”

Cnut laughed to himself at the exchange but Bloodhair shot him a dark look.

Cnut shrugged, “Uhtred had you pinned - you’re only alive because Ragnar stopped him.”

“He’s a piece of horse shit and a Saxon traitor. I will kill him.”

Haeston flung a knife against the wall. “Ragnar has once again stood in our way of crushing Uhtred.”

Cnut looked curious. “And what do you suggest? Kill Ragnar?”

Haeston smirked. “I didn’t say it friend...”

Cnut smiled back but was interrupted before he could respond.

“What are you turds talking about?”

Brida appeared in the smoke filled hall looking annoyed.

“We are discussing killing Uhtred,” Bloodhair supplied before Haeston could bite off his own tongue.

“We should have killed him while we had the chance,” Brida sighed.

“So you wouldn’t have stopped the fight then?” Cnut asked her cautiously.  
Brida was a private person who made many threats to protect her personal space but Cnut was aware she and Uhtred had grown up together and once been lovers.

Brida threw him an angry look. “He has betrayed us. Too many times to count now. Ragnar should have done it himself but it’s over now.”  
She crossed her arms and walked across the long hall to reach Ragnar’s private quarters.

“It’s not over,” Haeston said quietly to Bloodhair once Brida had shut the door. “I want the princess. You want Uhtred. We must find them and end this.”

Bloodhair took a long gulp from his cup. “And how do you propose we do that?”

“Together.” Haeston replied. “And quickly.”

*

It was mid-day when the rider arrived at Aethelred’s estate. He was practically falling over from exhaustion and caked in mud but Aldhelm brought him into Aethelred’s quarters anyway.

“Lord,” Aldhelm cleared his throat as they approached. Aethelred was sharpening his knife collection in front of a roaring fire.

“This is Elroy. He’s come with a message from Aethelwold.”

Elroy staggered but pulled it together at the disgusted look Aethelred was giving him.

“Sorry for my appearance Lord - I’ve been riding since yesterday morning non-stop”

“Go ahead, spit it out then,” Aethelred commanded as he laid down a sharp blade.

“Uh Lord Aethelwold has said to tell you that Uhtred is abandoning the Danes to protect your wife and that he believes that your wife is near Dunholm. He asks that you ride immediately to meet him and go in pursuit of your wife. He has sent additional instructions in this message,” Elroy finished and handed over a dirty scrap of parchment from inside his coat.

Aethelred gingerly took the parchment and untied it before reading it over quickly. He threw it down on the table and sighed. He picked up one of his knives to examine the handle.

“And you saw Uhtred leave Dunholm with your own eyes?”

“Uh no Lord - Aethelwold sent me here before he left Sir. He said Lord Uhtred would go straight to your wife and I was to come straight here.”

“I see. Well thank you for your haste - Aldhelm will you get some food and rest.” Aethelred smiled at Elroy before raising the knife in his hand and throwing it directly into Elroy’s chest, causing a shout of shock as the man dropped to his knees.

“Lord!” Aldhelm exclaimed.

“Finish him,” Aethelred directed.

Aldhelm drove his sword through Elroy’s throat to end his agony and looked curiously up at Aethelred. “Was that really necessary? We will have to get the carpets cleaned again in here.”

Aethelred shrugged. “Aethelwold instructed to kill him once he delivered his message. No one is to know we are on our way to Dunholm.”

Adhelm sighed. “And when do we leave lord?”

Aethelred smiled. “Immediately.”


	14. Chapter 14

They had ridden hard for a day - only stopping for the briefest of sleep and even then Aethelflaed did not rest well as the forest howled around them in the pitch black night. Her clothes were stained with blood but she didn’t care; they would stop when Uhtred told them to stop. For now, her life was in his hands.

They finally set up camp at a stable on the outskirts of a small abandoned cluster of houses. The houses were charred and long empty, deprived of most useful resources. But the stable was well built and would protect them from the cold, allowing them a good night’s rest at last.

Sihtric threw another log on the fire before sitting down again next to Finan. Roose was posted on guard at the edge of the forest along with another of Uhtred’s men, Jorda. He was one of the men Aethelfaed hadn’t met before and though he hardly spoke, she had caught him crack a smile at one of Finan’s jokes earlier.

“What happened Lord?” Sihtric broke Aethelfaed’s thoughts. She and Sihtric hadn’t had a chance to hear the story from Uhtred yet - only bits and pieces told to urge them in their pace away from those who pursued them.

Uhtred twisted his hands in front from the flames to warm them.

“Bloodhair happened. He challenged me to the square and we fought in the morning. He was wild with anger -“

“And a cheating bastard,” Finan interrupted. “Was playing dirty.”

“But I wounded him in his right arm - broke some ribs hopefully and dislocated his shoulder - I had him pinned beneath me and Ragnar stopped it.”

“He stopped it?!” Sihtric asked surprised.

“He told us to leave and never come back. Said he didn’t want to lose anymore men before the battle-“

Uhtred glanced at Aethelflead. “The Danes are growing an army to attack Wessex. They will march against your father and soon.”

Aethelflaed closed her eyes. She did not want to think about Wessex but her daughter was there. Her parents. The beginning of her old life. She opened her eyes to meet Uhtred’s gaze.

“And what of my husband?”

Finan hissed. “Aethelwold.”

Aethelflaed was surprised at her cousin’s name. “Is he with the Danes?”

Finan nodded. “As I live and breathe. And we saw him send out a rider before dawn yesterday.”

“To Aethelred?” The Lady of Mercia spat in anger.

Uhtred sighed. “Yes we assume so Lady. He would want Aethelred to join him and the Danes now - perhaps to chase you or join them early. Either way your husband will be en route towards Dunholm already we can be sure. Regardless, Haeston has not forgotten his thirst for you - his pursuit yesterday proved that.”

Aethelflaed felt sick. She had come here to escape, to have a way towards survival but it only felt like she was more and more trapped by the day. She stood up abruptly, “Please excuse me for a minute.”

She stumbled out of the ring of the fire’s heat and walked into the surrounding darkness. She found herself wandering towards the abandoned buildings that once held families and livestock. The moon provided enough light as she breathed deeply, leaning against a dry well in the center of the buildings.

“Aethelflaed.”

She turned to see Uhtred watching her. She gave him a soft smile but was unsure he could see her face in the darkness.

“I’m alright.” She lied. “I just needed a minute to think.”

“What about?”

She paused. “All of these homes here once held life in them, perhaps this place thrived years ago and now what is it? Just another abandoned dead thing on the path to somewhere else. Am I abandoning Wessex and Mercia when they need me? Will they be swallowed by the Danes and become just a memory of death and destruction?”

“You are staying alive Lady. You cannot save anyone if you do not save yourself.”

She nodded. “And your children? Are they in Coccham?”

Uhtred walked towards her, the moon glistening off his sword on his shoulder. “They are under the protection of Abbess Hild. They wait for me to return.”

“And if you don’t return?”

She thought of Alfwynn growing up without her. She thought of her growing up and never knowing who her father was. She thought of the Danes murdering everyone in their path, not knowing Alfwynn was one of their own.

“I do not dwell on such questions Aethelflaed for my path is determined for me. Destiny is all. Destiny led you here and we shall keep you safe until we know where our paths take us. But my children know I love them. And Alfwynn knows you love her. And where our paths take us will not change that.”

He was beside her now. She took a deep breath as she held in the threat of tears. She turned to look at him and cleared her throat. “Gisela was lucky to have you Uhtred. I was devastated to hear of her death.”

“Your father allowed her to be called a whore.”

“I - I am sorry for that.”

He frowned. “It’s not your fault... It is kind of you to say. I was - I was not prepared to feel as though a part of me was missing - but -“ he stopped speaking and cleared his throat. The night wind rustled around them.

“I know.” She whispered as she reached out for his hand in the dark. He did not startle when she touched him but nodded, remembering the night Erik died. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand and she shivered. She had not been touched so gently in many years and she let out a breath she had not realized she’d been holding.

“That night - that night at Beaumfleot - I thought you would never stop crying.” He confessed quietly.

She hesitated. Flashes of the night tore at her mind. The fortress burning, Finan dragging her down a corridor, Clapa sacrificing himself as they rode for the ship, and the night air swallowing her screams. That ride on the ship through the thick night air of summer threatened to eat her screams alive. She had been a rabid animal of pain and the only person who had held her together was now standing in front of her grasping her hand as if the meeting of their skin was the only thing keeping them both standing.

She wiped a tear from her face with the back of her hand. “Nor did I.” She lifted her head to look at him. “I felt as though my soul was ripped in two that night. I thought it would get easier with time and it did. But the dreams did not stop for months.”

He was staring at her unblinking.

“The dreams?” He asked. She dropped her gaze.

“Erik came to me in my dreams for months. Seeing him kept me alive, gave me hope-”

She was afraid to look at Uhtred but she did; she was surprised by how close his face was. They were leaning towards each other as if drawn to the warmth spinning between their bodies.

“— but eventually I had to stop dreaming and start living.”

He reached up with his free hand and brushed a sliver of hair from her cheek.

“I am glad of it.”

The silence stirred. Aethelflaed didn’t know what was happening; she’d known Uhtred her entire life and now she was inches away from him and all she could think about was his lips.

“Lord?”

Uhtred broke their grasp as he turned, Wasp Sting already in hand.

Finan stood several feet away, his head cocked to the side. “Rypere is back. He’s seen scouts, but they’re not traveling tonight. Danes.”

Uhtred nodded. “We rest tonight and leave in the morning.”

“Yes Lord,” Finan said as he turned to walk back to the fire.

Uhtred smiled at Aethelflaed.

“I hope your husband will join us for dinner soon. I hear Mercian Pig is in season this time of year.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place directly before Chapter 1 when Aethelflaed and Uhtred are asleep in the stable.


	15. Chapter 15

Uhtred was standing in a field of golden grass waist height. He wasn’t sure how he got here, just that the day was beautiful and blinding in it’s brightness. He reached out a hand as the grass swayed in the light breeze. It reminded him of a distant memory from his childhood, watching the horizon for enemies at Bebbanburg. 

Somewhere behind him a child laughed. He turned expecting to see his daughter but there was no one, just the soft movement of the grass. The giggle broke out again and he spun to catch her as the grass shifted but she was not there. 

Instead, Gisela stood a few feet away from him, her hair braided, her arms crossed against her body. Her head was tilted to one side as though she were deep in thought while staring at him. 

“I told you to let go Uhtred.” 

“Gisela,” he took a step forward, he wanted to be closer. “You came.” 

She smiled but there was worry in her eyes. 

“Gisela we are on our way north to Bebbanburg. I am going home,” he smiled, he wanted to tell her everything, to share this life with her in any way he could. He did not want his dreams of Gisela to end and he searched for her every night. “I will send for the children once it is safe, once it is mine again.” 

“And what of Aethelfaed?” 

“Aethelflaed? She is safe. They are hunting her but she is safe with us.” 

“She has come for you.” 

He was confused. She had spoken these words before. 

“Yes of course she has come - you should see her Gisela. She is not the girl she once was. She is strong and her mind is powerful - she commands and fights - you would be so proud of her.” 

He reached out for Gisela’s hand and this time he touched her. He knelt in front of her, pressing her cool skin against his cheek. 

“I have not seen a woman warrior of her equal in many years - she is fierce-some and beautiful.” 

He let out a deep breath, not yet looking up at her face as he confessed what he had been unable to deny since he first found Aethelflaed in the woods. 

“She is more beautiful than I could have imagined.” 

Her other hand brushed gently against the side of his head, her fingers winding their way into his hair, pulling him closer as he leaned against her stomach. He breathed in deep. Never in his dreams had he been able to hold her like this. He missed the warmth of another body pressed against his. He brought her hand to his lips before he glanced up —

But Gisela has disappeared. 

Aethelflaed smiled back at him, her auburn hair ablaze in the sunlight. 

Uhtred stood up, his hand still wound around Aethelflaed’s waist. He was afraid to let go, to wake up from this dream and face reality. 

“Aethelflaed?”

His voice was barely a whisper. She stared back at him, unflinching in the sunlight. 

“Gisela said you are ready Lord.” 

“Ready for what?” 

Aethelflaed’s hand reached up to his face and touched the scar just near his eye that Brida had sliced. 

“Ready for me.”


	16. Chapter 16

Finan was anxious as he pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. He paced in front of Uhtred as his Lord chewed on a small stick watching the horizon. 

They were waiting for Sihtric and Osferth to return, who had gone into a small village hours ago to see what kind of people lived there and if there were any men or warriors who might join them. They needed more men on their journey to Bebbanburg and they would need many more to break the fortress but that time would come. 

Finan paused and stared out the window of the stables. He was doubtful there would be any warriors here and even more doubtful they’d want to join their merry band of outlaws. The village was sleepy in the Autumn drizzle, most people were shut up in their dwellings or in the local pubs - which is exactly where Sihtric was right now. 

“We should be in there having a pint,” Finan smiled at Uhtred. 

Uhtred smiled back. “Perhaps in the next village. We cannot risk being recognized when we are still this close to Dunholm.” 

Finan shrugged and nodded. They’d been riding for days but had zig zagged across the country from Dunholm. A pack of Danes had been trailing them and Uhtred’s men did not want to immediately reveal their destination. 

Their last good sleep had been when they had found an empty stable three days prior and the following morning Finan, Rypere and Roose had laid a trap not far from the barn in the woods. They waited for their Dane followers to come close before murdering the five of them and hanging them from the trees. 

“Why are we hanging them?” Roose had asked worried. 

“A warning to those who follow,” Finan had replied. 

A warning that Uhtred of Bebbanburg was not a man to kill. 

“Go check on the others,” Uhtred’s voice interrupted Finan’s thoughts. 

“The others?” 

Rypere and the other men were stationed in the woods further up the hill with Aethelflaed. They’d found a cliff overhang which provided some shelter as they couldn’t risk lighting fires out in the open. 

Uhtred nodded, not taking his eyes off the sleepy village below.

Finan paused. 

“You don’t want to check on her yourself?” 

He couldn’t help himself. 

Uhtred turned to his Irish brother and lifted an eyebrow. 

Finan’s face cracked into a grin but he didn’t get a response as the rain pissed on the roof. 

Perhaps he’d misread the conversation he’d interrupted between Uhtred and Aethelflaed the other night. Their body language had seemed almost intimate but they had known each other a lifetime, Finan reminded himself. Uhtred and Aethelflaed’s paths seemed to criss cross through time, weaving a strange friendship that defied normal royal boundaries. 

Uhtred chewed on his stick and kept his eyes on the village through the window. 

“I trust you Finan.” 

Finan looked at him in surprise.

“Yes I know Lord.”

“I trust you as my brother.” Uhtred turned to glance at him out of the corner of his eye. “And I trust you to keep what you saw the other night to yourself.” 

Finan closed his mouth. He nodded before clasping a hand to Uhtred’s shoulder and departing into the rain.

He lifted the hood on his cloak as he scrambled up the hillside towards the woods where the others were hiding. 

He had known Uhtred a long time now — they had survived oceans and slavery and shield walls and wars together. Uhtred had a quiet power to him, he was private about his personal affairs — it’s why Gisela always seemed such a perfect match — they were cautious about what they shared in public and kept no secrets between them. Finan had dug Gisela from her grave so they could light the funeral pyre and watch her spirit release into the stars. He had held Uhtred as he wept and watched his friend change in quiet ways as he steadied himself for a life without his wife. 

It took time but the humour had returned — the light had crept in again to their lives. Finan had expected a jest or joke from Uhtred when he teased him about Aethelflaed. He’d expected him to brush him off and laugh. 

He had not expected Uhtred to admit to anything.

But that is exactly what Uhtred did. 

*

Aethelflaed woke early to the sun. She had always loved the warmth as a child — chasing the rays into the outdoors for horse riding and sword fighting with Steapa. 

This morning she picked her way carefully through the sleeping men at the mouth of the cliff overhang they had sheltered under. Last night’s rain had turned into a soft sunlit morning. It was still brisk and the forest was just beginning to wake. 

She knew one of Uhtred’s men would be stationed down at the stables to watch the village and it appeared that Roose had fallen asleep on duty at the edge of their encampment. She was careful not to wake him as she walked past their horses and out into the forest alone.

As she walked she sharpened her dagger on a dry rock she’d found. The sword felt warm in her hand — ready for its next battle. She knew it would come soon but she was unsure if it would be with Aethelred, Danes or both. 

When she’d married Aethelred, she had thought him handsome. The thought curdled in her mind making her laugh to herself. What a child she had been. She smiled. She wondered what his face would look like beneath her blade should she have the opportunity for revenge. Or would she offer him his life in exchange for hers? She paused at the sound of a small animal in the brush. 

She wanted to return to Mercia and rule. She wanted her daughter to grow up healthy and strong and brave. She wanted to command a great army and protect her people. She wanted — she paused. 

The forest broke into a small clearing with a great tree in the middle, the grass sweeping and weaving around it, a boulder nesting just underneath. There on the boulder was Uhtred. 

Aethelflaed knew what she wanted. She just wasn’t ready to say it yet. 

His eyes were closed, his face turned towards the sun.

He wasn’t wearing his furs; just a soft tunic, his sword resting beside him. 

He wasn’t asleep, just meditating in the early morning. He looked peaceful, almost rested this morning. 

She took a step forward before she could stop herself. 

He opened his eyes at the sound of her in the brush. 

His eyes flashed; worry? concern? She almost stopped at the realisation she was disrupting his peace. 

“Aethelflaed.” Her name was certain on his tongue as if she were a language he was born with.

“I am sorry to disturb your peace” she said as she reached his resting spot. “I did not realize anyone else was out here.”

His brow furrowed as if he was confused. 

“You aren’t disturbing me. You are the very person I was thinking of” he admitted softly. 

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. He seemed so different now. So familiar. She’d watched him as a child, listened to his stories as she grew up, trained her sword against him as he laughed in her father’s courtyard. He and Gisela had been some of the few to know the truth about Aethered abusing her when she was first married and did what they could to shield her. He’d been the only one to know about Erik and the only one to know the truth about Alfwynn. Who else could she trust? 

She paused at the thought.

She respected him and trusted him more than anyone in her life and yet - she had never known him like this. After Erik, Uhtred had visited her a few times, sometimes sharing stories or watching Alfwynn learn to walk and talk. They had shared silence but there had always been a distance between them - a respect and formality they could not entirely overcome in Wessex.

She climbed up on the boulder’s edge, leaning into its rough warmth in the morning sun. 

“I was thinking of Aethelred just now. About what I might do when we finally meet again.” 

Uhtred flashed a smile. “Nothing too generous I hope.” 

She grinned. “Do I take his ears or his tongue?” 

Uhtred laughed. “Take his eyes. So he might have to hear your name everyday for eternity but will never get to see your face again.” 

She nodded and smiled in agreement. “His eyes.” 

Uhtred flipped Serpant Breath in his hand, its fierce blade flashing in the morning light. 

Aethelflaed breathed deeply and closed her eyes, allowing her senses a reprieve from the man sitting next to her and instead focused on the bird song and the forest waking around her.

“Why are you awake so early my Lady?” Uhtred’s question was soft but curious. 

Her brow furrowed before she opened her eyes. Her fears and worry were heavy on her mind and sleep had been difficult since she had left Mercia. What was her future? Where did she belong? Was her journey north a mistake? Should she have stayed in Mercia and tried to take her husband on? 

She sighed. “My mind seems incapable of rest. Every question seems to lead to another - the uncertainty is crushing. I am not afraid of Aethelred - I am not afraid of the Danes - if they kill me then they will kill me.”

She paused. 

“I am afraid of letting down the people who are relying on me. My daughter, my father, my people in Mercia. I cannot do the work I need to do - I cannot lead if I am dead. But I cannot lead if I am in exile. It seems a never ending circle in my mind - and my next step seems more unclear with each passing day.” 

She looked up at Uhtred. She hadn’t expected to say so much but apparently she was in need of a confidant. In truth it had felt like ages since she had been able to speak openly about her feelings and now that the opportunity was here she wanted to let everything inside of her out. 

She bit her lip. 

“Why are you smiling?” She asked Uhtred as he burst out laughing. 

“‘If they kill me then they will kill me’ — spoken like a true warrior.” He shook his head. “I do not know why I am here with you Aethelflaed - you are a far greater fighter and leader than you give yourself credit.” 

“You’re here because I trust you. I don’t know if I’ve ever trusted anyone in this world as much as I trust you Uhtred.” 

He stared at her, unblinking. The smile was gone.

“I needed to escape my husband - to escape my death - so at the very least I can make a plan for Mercia’s future, for Wessex’s future. I cannot leave so many lives hanging in the balance of Aethelred and Aethelwold and the Danes. And there is no one I would rather have by my side as I make these plans than you.” 

Her confession escaped confidently but her heart was racing as she feared she had said too much. She pulled her hair across her back to rest on her shoulder. 

“Aethelflaed-“ Uhtred started but stopped. The wind shifted in the trees around them as the sun slipped in and out of a cloud overhead. He glanced away from her, his eyes searching the forest. 

She had said too much — he must think this was some romantic confession — she shuddered at the thought of him clarifying their friendship. She pushed herself up and off the boulder, brushing her hands against her dress. 

“The others will be awake and wondering where we’ve gone —“ 

“Aethelflaed -“ his voice was firm. He slid off the boulder, catching her arm as she started to walk away from him. 

“It’s fine Uhtred - you don’t have to say anything. Let’s go back.” 

He seemed rooted to the earth as he pulled her back towards him. She kept her face flushed to the ground. She could not bear this conversation. Not now.

“Aethelflaed -“ He said her name for the third time but it was just a whisper, not the firm commanding voice of a man on the battle field. He lifted his fingers to her face and raised her chin up towards him so he could look her in the eyes. 

“There is no place I would rather be than right here with you.”


	17. Chapter 17

Aethelflaed’s voice had died in her throat three minutes ago. Her body felt like every inch of her was on fire and there was a strange tingling in her left hand. She was confused by the pounding of her heart in her throat - was she bleeding or was that someone else’s blood? She didn’t have time to find out. Her dagger was a desperate wolf which sang to the sun as though there would be no night. 

His fingers crushed her throat but she swung her fist up hard. She killed the man strangling her by digging her dagger into his esophagus and she watched the life slip swiftly from his face as his gasps disappeared. He was not the last man she would kill and he most certainly was not the first but she was determined she would not die today. 

Today. How could she live a lifetime in a day?

She turned in time to see Finan head butt a man in the face, crushing his opponent to the ground. Sihtric was hacking another man with an ax and Rypere was fending off two men at once. 

She caught her breath. This was her fault. These men were dying because of her and more men would die in her name. 

Aethelflaed swallowed. She felt like her limbs were stones and she was drowning in thin air. 

“Lady!” She heard the shout as she blinked and saw a grizzled Dane sprinting towards her, his mouth bloody and determined. She didn’t know who had shouted for her but they were suddenly next to her, a staff raised to gouge at the face of her attacker. 

“Osferth,” she whispered before she snapped out of her trance. Her dagger was singing in her hand again as she danced next to the monk, stabbing at the man’s exposed underbelly as Osferth struggled to engage the dane’s sword hand above. The dane screamed as she sliced under his armpit and Osferth hit him straight in the face, knocking the man onto his back, stunned just long enough for Aethelflaed to cut his throat. 

“Are you alright Lady?” Osferth asked as she stood back up.

She looked at the worry etched in his face. His eyes were the spitting image of her father. Of Alfred. 

“Yes I’m alright,” she tried to smile but realized how deranged she must look, drenched in blood, smiling. This day was only getting stranger. Killing men alongside her half-brother and surviving, what a bonding experience. 

A hand grabbed her arm roughly from behind. 

“Lady we must go!” 

She was relieved she hadn’t just stabbed Sihtric in the throat but he was already dragging her towards the horses before her mind could activate her tongue.

“Sihtric I can walk!” She protested as her feet caught up with the speed. He loosened his grip but kept her moving. She glanced back and Finan was already in step behind them, fending off two more Danes in pursuit. 

The carnage they left in their wake was a sight to behold. Over a dozen Danes were left dead and bloody, body parts scattered like a trail of breadcrumbs back to their cliff overhang, which had proved safe for only a brief moment in time. 

Her feet found their way up and over her horse, her fingers lacing their way through the thick mane — she needed something real to hold on to. This morning she and Uhtred had — she touched her lips with her fingers, she wasn’t even sure if it had been real or a dream. Uhtred. She only tasted blood now - she glanced down at her hand to discover her left arm was soaked in what she realised was her own blood. 

“Lady? Are ye alright to ride?” 

Blood. She was bleeding too much. She did not deserve to live when so many had died. Her body was an ocean draining. Finan’s voice was underwater. Her mind was a flood. How did the Danes know where she was? She blinked. 

“Lady?” 

Focus. Focus on his voice. Breathe. Pain climbed through her like a child learning to run. Breathe. She tried to tell him the blood was hers, all of it, but instead she leaned over and vomited.

“Sihtric tie my horse to yours.” 

She was aware of a body climbing up behind her on her horse. A man with strength who moved with careful purpose and speed. Her vision was too blurred to see anything but red through her tears. His hands took the reins from her lap and he pulled the horse into a quick trot. His thighs squeezed against her and his left hand kept her in place against him. 

“Lady - you’ll be alright. You’re safe now.” 

Finan. Finan was riding with her. His voice was a salve to the wound she was slipping inside of. She gasped for air, blinking as she used an edge of her cloak to brush the rivers from her face. She needed to be able to see the forest, the trees - she needed to be reminded of the life around her, the breathing earth that allowed her to keep living. 

The woods flashed past her, a fury of escape and anger pulsing through the group. She turned her head — Sihtric rode on their left with Finan’s horse in tow. Jorda was on their right — with Uhtred’s horse behind him - empty of his rider. 

Perhaps Finan could read her mind or perhaps Uhtred’s men were as scared and determined in their unspoken mission as she was. The Irishman’s voice was thick with battle and survival as he leaned into her ear. 

“Do not worry Lady. We will find him.” 

 

*

 

“You can’t be serious,” Aethelred was tired of Aethelwold and the man had only just begun speaking. He had dragged half his army all the way to Dunholm and Aethelwold was desperate for his attention. 

They were resting in a smokey hall and the welcome had been less than inviting. Ragnar had not yet come to greet the Mercian troops now camped outside his walls nor had he acknowledge Aethelred himself. The Danes were brutes but, as Aethelwold never ceased to point out, they were brutes who were going to win and Aethelred wanted to win. He wanted to maintain his lands and his power and if all went well, he wanted to be king of Mercia and if things went very well, king of Wessex too. Aethelwold was a means to an end but Aethelred did agree with him on one key move that benefited them both: his wife needed to die. His father-in-law was going to die soon by the grace of God himself but Aethelflaed was an obstacle to a crown he desperately wanted. And perhaps if she died, it might speed up the process of Alfred’s death. 

“Oh I am very serious,” Aethelwold responded while taking a gulp of his ale. “If everything goes to plan, your wife is already dead.”

“Haeston? The overweight blunder of a man who advises Alfred of the Dane’s plans in his spare time is the man who is supposedly murdering my wife right now?” Aethelred scoffed. “The man is an idiot.” 

Aethelwold glanced quickly around Dunholm’s dark hall. It was hard to tell who might be lurking nearby. 

“Yes. He has been sending small war parties to track Uhtred and his men since they left,” Aethelwold hissed. “Keep your voice down.”

Aethelred rolled his eyes. “And have any of these small war parties returned?” 

Aethelwold hesitated. He was trying to play his cards right but didn’t have much choice in lying too grandly — Cnut or Bloodhair could quickly deflate his stories if he talked too big a game.

“Only one,” he responded, clearing his throat. 

“And the others?”

“Murdered. Hanged. Hacked to pieces. “

Aethelred laughed. Some men at a nearby table glanced at him, surprised.

“You sent a small handful of Danes after the Dane Slayer and they’ve been murdered and now you think Haeston is going to be successful?”

Aethelwold looked uncomfortable but set his jaw firm. 

“The scouts who did return successfully tracked Uhtred to a small town not more than a couple days ride from here. Haeston left with a group of warriors to capture and kill Uhtred…. and Aethelflaed.” 

Aethelred sighed exasperated. “So why am I here?”

Aethelwold smiled. “Because I want you to join our great army and I want us to attack Wessex. Mercians and Danes side by side. We strike now. As soon as Uhtred and Aethelflaed are dead. Edward is a boy trying to steal my throne and now is the time to take back what is mine. What is ours. We’re ready to make our dreams a reality.” 

The fire hissed between them. The silence grew expectant as Aethelred leaned forward, rubbing his chin in thought. 

“Are there any women in this fortress?”

“Women?” Aethelwold stammered, surprised. “Yes — yes there are definitely women.” 

“Good. I could really use a whore to help celebrate my wife’s demise.”


	18. Chapter 18

In a different life, Uhtred Ragnarson was a Lord of Bebbanburg.

When he was first taken by Earl Ragnar to live with the Danes, he would fall asleep imaging himself a ruler of his father’s great lands, the rough seafoam green ocean and cold beaches he had been raised on. It was a child’s fantasy but it had given him strength and something still burned inside of him. A longing for what should have been his, what was stolen from him.

He wanted Bebbanburg. He wanted to murder his uncle for his betrayals, he wanted a place to call home, a land that was truly his and not Alfred’s. Uhtred wanted to be his own ruler. He did not want to answer to the politics and laws of a god he did not believe in. He wanted freedom. Freedom from the wrath of men.

He had been fighting to get there for so long and this road was finally leading him away from Wessex, north to Bebbanburg.

But destiny — destiny seemed to have other plans for him.

“Aethelflaed.”

He never wanted to stop saying her name out loud.

He lifted her chin up towards him. Her face was fierce but her eyes were apprehensive. His fingers brushed her hair behind her ear. He could feel her breath mixing with his in the small space between them.

He hesitated.

He was an outlaw. A Pagan. A man mistrusted and hunted and despised. He would never be worthy of her. She was the daughter of the king. She was married. She was royalty. She was Mercian. She was Saxon. She was bound to a land he wanted nothing to do with.

And she was braver and wiser and kinder than any person he had ever known.

“There is no place I would rather be than right here with you.”

The silence swallowed him. The air between them tasted of mint and smoke. Somewhere a bird called in the forest.

She reached up with hesitant fingers to his newest scar, the one scabbing near his brow, and brushed it ever so lightly with her fingers.

He closed his eyes. He had dreamed this into existence. He could never have imagined what her touch would actually feel like against his face.

“Uhtred.” Her voice was hardly a whisper.

He opened his eyes and his hand found her waist, cautious but certain, until there was no distance to close between them.

Her fingers fell down his face, her thumb tracing his lips. His heart was pounding inside his chest.  
The sun was swimming through her hair and he pulled her towards him, her eyes swallowing him whole.

Mint and smoke.

His mouth found hers. She was warm and soft and strong and she did not pull back.  
She leaned into him like a challenge and it was like coming home.  _Mint and smoke._ His fingers found her jaw and the world slowed as something inside of him pulled, begging for more, his hands willing her closer until there was no space between them, until the forest around them began to melt away.

The sky awoke with the flight of birds, an explosion of noise, sudden and startled through the branches. Aethelflaed broke from him, her breath soft and ragged, fear already in her eyes.

She knew.

She knew they had come for her and she hadn’t even seen them yet. Her eyes flashed with anger instead of fear and in that moment Uhtred knew there was no one he wanted more in this world but her.

“Run.” His voice was a broken growl as he grabbed Serpant Breath. “They will follow me.”

She was already holding her dagger in her fist as she turned away from him and started running towards camp. She did not look back.

Uhtred dropped to one knee as he scanned the forest surrounding him. A flash of color, a broken branch to his left. He turned Serpant Breath in his hand. She was hungry.

He moved quickly into the shadow of the tree so he could better scan the forest without the danger of arrows. He could see shadows - men and horses - moving through the brush towards him. He needed to move quickly before they circled him and before they followed Aethelflaed.

“Uhtred Raganarson!”

The voice bellowed in the forest as the men in the woods started to step forward. There were at least a dozen. All on horseback. Warriors. Danes. Bloodthirsty. And led by Haeston.

Serpant Breath was smiling.

 

*

 

Aethaelflaed was still half asleep but her left arm ached so badly she couldn’t stand it anymore. She shifted with her eyes still shut and pushed her shoulder against the heavy body crushing her arm trapped underneath.

“Erik!” She moaned, using her right hand to help her shift her arm free.

It was hardly light outside her tiny cell’s window but she could see his body rise and fall in his slumber as she stretched her arm awake. He must have crushed her for hours - she could hardly feel anything. She pinched him, hard, with her right hand as she rolled away from the wall.

“Ow! What was that for?” His voice was heavy with sleep. He slept every night as if he might never wake again.

“You nearly crushed me to death while we slept!” She said, rolling her eyes and stifling a laugh.

At least he didn’t snore; Aethelred snored like he was calling the pigs home.

Aethaelflaed tried to shake the feeling back into her arm as Erik’s warm hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer to him until there was no space between their skin.

“Mmm you smell good my Lady,” he whispered into her hair.

She laughed. “You take me to bathe in the river almost every day! Of course I smell good.”

It was the easiest way for them to find alone time together outside of the fortress’s walls. At this point, Erik’s men knew to keep their distance as Erik was no longer willing to just watch her from the river bank. She smiled as his lips found her neck and she imagined the way he lifted her on top of him in the water.

“Aethelflaed?” His voice sounded strange; it startled her. She wasn’t sure she had ever heard him sound scared before.

She turned to find his hand hovering over her arm, covered in blood. Was he bleeding?

She looked down at her arm to discover a deep wound that was practically gushing out over the bed.

“We have to wrap the wound. You need to stay awake, Lady.”

Awake? Of course she was awake though her eyelids were suddenly heavy.

His voice was muffled as if he was talking to her underwater.

“Stay with me.” Erik’s face was desperate as she closed her eyes.

The blood was everywhere and she was suddenly sick. She turned her head and vomited off the edge of the bed, except she was no longer leaning over the bed. She was suddenly heaving into the forest floor, dirt and twigs grasping at her cheek.

Aethelflaed turned back to the sky. She was on her back and the trees swayed above her. The last thing she remembered was riding on a horse. She blinked as her mind came back to her.

“Lady! Ye need to stay awake!” Finan’s voice snapped her to attention as he swam into view above her, his fingers working quickly around her arm as he wrapped her in makeshift bandages from a torn tunic. She realized her dress had been ripped from the shoulder so he could reach her wound.

Sihtric stood guard over the two of them, watching the surrounding forest with a sword in hand. Osferth stood ten paces back averting his eyes; was he afraid she might die or too embarrassed to rip a Lady’s dress open?

Sihtric glanced down at them.

“Can you stop the bleeding?”

Finan didn’t stop his work as he grunted “Let’s hope so.”

She wasn’t sure she could speak but she had to try. Finan’s brow was furrowed; he was covered in so much blood and she was scared how much must have been hers. She managed to lift her right hand to pause his work. His hands froze at her touch and he found her eyes.

Althelflaed swallowed hard but she couldn’t form the words.

He shook his head as he cleared his throat. “You stay quiet Lady; save your strength. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

She swallowed as she dropped her right hand. She was not going to die here, not like this.

The ground underneath her seemed to tremble as thunder rolled across the forest floor; horses were approaching.  
Sihtric had turned but was putting his sword away as Osferth walked towards whoever was approaching.

“Finan!” A voice called out as the Irishman finished knotting the tunic around her arm. It was Rypere.

“We found him.” He was panting with exhaustion.

Finan nodded. “Osferth!” The monk came closer.

“You’ll stay here with Aethelflaed.”

“... me?”

She couldn’t see his face from where she was lying but Osferth sounded genuinely shocked.

“Guard her with your life or I will take your head from your shoulders.”

“Where is he?” Sihtric asked Rypere.

Finan crouched back down next to Aethelflaed, hesitating briefly before cupping the back of her head and tipping a flask of water into her mouth. She drank gratefully but she wanted to hear Rypere’s answer.

“He’s cornered by Haeston not far from here. We have to move quickly.”

Finan picked up something dripping in blood from next to Aethelflaed. The fabric was dirty and torn but she realized it was her cloak, soaked and stained with her life.

The Irishman looked stern as he leaned in to squeeze her hand.

“Stay alive my Lady. We cannot have ye dying on us just yet.”

And then he was gone, the trees swaying above her, the wind her only comfort in the sudden silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been enjoying layering this story with small time jumps and dreams; hope they are making sense! The start of this chapter fills in some of the blanks between our recent chapters with Uhtred and Aethelflaed in the field and then Aethelflaed fighting the Danes. The second half of this chapter takes place post Aethelflaed fighting with the Danes. <3 Thanks for all of the comments and encouragement!


	19. Chapter 19

Uhtred had been called arrogant on more than several occasions by Father Beocca, headstrong was Alfred’s favorite, aresling a regular swear from Leofric — but Uhtred’s confidence was a gift on the battlefield. He trusted his skill and he was one with his sword. If there was one thing Uhtred understood better than anything else, it was how to survive.

“Uhtred Ragnarson!” Heaston bellowed, his voice banging around the small forest clearing. Uhtred paused, sucking in a deep breath. He tucked Alethelflaed from his mind: he had to believe she would get back to Finan and his men safe. He had to hold Haeston here with his life.

“Haeston!” Uhtred called out, quickly counting the number of Danes Haeston had brought with him and the equipment they had with them, searching for weakness. “Are these sacks of shit the only men you brought with you?”

When he was satisfied there were no bowmen with the Danes, Uhtred walked out from the shelter of the tree. “I thought I was worth bringing more for.”

Haeston dismounted from his horse and walked to the front of his men. He stopped short of Uhtred and spat on the ground in front of him. “You are worth nothing to me.”

“Aw well that’s disappointing to hear.”

“Bloodhair, on the other hand, would like nothing more than to scalp you with your own weapon and hang your sword above his door.”

Uhtred flipped Serpant Breath in his hand and laughed. “He will try but he will not succeed.”

“And what of Aethelflaed?”

Haeston glanced around the field as if the Lady of Mercia might be hiding in the brush around them.

“What of her?” Uhtred asked.

“I want her.”

“I do not have her.”

“Bullshit.”

Uhtred shrugged and laughed. He was enjoying annoying Haeston. The Dane Slayer was close enough to one of Haeston’s men that he stroked the face of the man’s horse. The man on top of the horse had thick black hair and an ugly face.

Haeston’s men were shifting in their seats. It was unclear what Haeston’s next move was now that he was casually talking to the man they had come to kill or capture.

“I know she is with you. My scouts have reported on it.”

“The scouts we beheaded or the ones we hanged?”

Uhtred pressed his face close to the horse and breathed in with him, speaking softly to the beast.

Haeston laughed and glanced in the direction of where Uhtred’s men had been camped.

“I thought she would be with you.” He spat on the ground again and mused. “But if she’s at the camp,” he shrugged. “My men have instructions not to kill her.”

He looked directly at Uhtred with a smile. “But they have instructions to kill your men and bring me their heads.”

Serpant Breath moved so fast Haeston didn’t even realize what was happening until Uhtred was on the black haired Dane’s horse. The Dane Slayer shouted for the horse to move fast as they leapt over the body of the man Uhtred had just stabbed and raced into the forest away from Haeston, in the opposite direction of where Aethelflaed had run just minutes ago.

“After him!” Haeston bellowed as his men took off with shouts into the woods after Uhtred. “Kill him! Bring me his sword and kill him!”

Haeston bent down to his man, the black haired Dane, gurgling blood and gasping from his stomach wound. Haeston pulled the man’s axe from his belt and lifted it.

“You should have been on your guard.” He spat before he dropped the axe and the forest fell silent around him.

 

*

 

Sihtric was sure the world could hear his heart beating out of his chest as he sat upon his horse, the afternoon heat blazing down upon him, the sun an unforgiving watchful eye above. It was Autumn but instead of the crisp cool days they had been surviving these last few weeks, today was warm and the sweat pooled in the crooks of his arm. Small red beads ran down his forehead as his perspiration mixed with blood. He reached up and wiped the side of his face, smearing the dried blood staining his hairline.

Today had been one of the longest days of his life.

The sound of Aethelflaed screaming his name this morning as she sprinted into their camp, blade drawn echoed around his head. Danes. They had appeared seemingly out of no where moments after the Lady of Mercia, on foot, as if they had been hiding in the shadows of the morning. Sihtric pushed the memory from his mind.

He remembered another long day, years ago, when he was a prisoner of Uhtred’s. He had wanted to join the Dane Warrior so badly, to train and serve a man so excellent. Sihtric never wanted to see Kjarten again unless he could end the suffering his father had bestowed upon him and his mother.

That day in his memory, waiting to speak to Uhtred, attacking his men in the forest, and pleading to switch sides had been a day that lived in his throat. It shaped him: the forgiveness and trust Uhtred offered him. It was an olive branch, an opportunity, a chance for Sihtric to grow, learn and become the warrior he was today.

Today. His fingers tensed around his axe as he glanced at Finan. The Irishman was almost his brother; and Sihtric saw the weight of the world on his brother’s shoulders. His normally cheerful face, the twinkle in his eye, was silent, stern, focused.

The two of them had followed Uhtred’s other men, Rypere, Jorda, Roose and Elfrich, to the edge of the forest. There before them was a huge field, stretching out as the grass turned to rolling hills in the distance.

There were three dead Danes scattered in this field. One had dragged himself before he died so an ominous red splatter was sprayed across the yellowing grass. That left about 9 or 10 men, some atop horses, some on foot, surrounding Uhtred. Haeston was with them. It had been his men who they’d killed this morning. He must have split his war party and sent some to the camp and some after Uhtred.

There was a horse that had also bled out, a spear sticking out of its side not far from where the remaining men were. Sihtric wasn’t sure why they would have killed a horse but Rypere interrupted his thoughts.

“They must have killed the beast to get Uhtred off of it.”

Uhtred was injured but not seriously enough for his odds. He was only armed with his sword Serpent Breath, as the rest of his gear had been left on his horse in camp. He was bleeding, his shirt was sliced and splattered, but it could have been the blood of the men he had killed already.

His men hesitated slightly at the edge of the forest — their odds were not so bad in this situation— they’d already murdered close to 15 Danes back at the cliff overhang. They were bruised and injured and bloody, but alive. Elfich pulled his bow and arrows to the ready as they waited for Finan’s command.

The Irishman turned and looked at Sihtric. “If things go badly here, ye do not wait. You go back for Aethelflaed and you ride to Guthred at Cumbraland.”

Sihtric was shocked. “Guthred? He’s an aresling.”

“He will protect the Lady of Mercia to gain favor with Alfred if only with the walls of his city. Ye do not wait, ye do not look back, ye take baby monk and you ride.”

Sihtric nodded in agreement.

“Alright.” Finan said, turning back to the field before him. “We ride.”

And with that, Finan blazed forward into the sun and led his men toward their second battle in one day.


	20. Chapter 20

Ragnar had always hated Alfred’s hold over his brother. The king of saxons was an intelligent man who occasionally showed empathy and understanding, a gift he bestowed upon Ragnar years ago when Brida and Ragnar had been held captive in Wintchester. He allowed Ragnar to go rescue Uhtred from a slave ship and trusted him to return with the great Dane Slayer. Ragnar often mulled this trust over in his mind; in truth he admired Alfred as much as he despised him. He was a worthy enemy in many ways. But his strange god and formalities and laws bored Ragnar almost as much as his blood boiled at how often his brother pledged his loyalty to the Saxon king. 

Ragnar mused what battles lay ahead as he watched over Brida, sleeping soundly beside him in the late morning light. He loved her this way; her guard down, vulnerable and soft. He brushed a finger across her bare arm, tracing the shadow of the sun. She was one of the best warriors he had ever fought aside and he never wanted to be on the receiving end of her axe. He loved when she was fierce and angry and impossibly confident but she had not been the same since Uhtred left weeks ago. She had rolled her eyes when Haeston left with a war party a week ago before stalking around this fortress like a trapped wolf, threatening anyone who looked at her the wrong way.

Ragnar knew Brida’s love was powerful and he understood the wound she carried with her from Uhtred. There had been too many betrayals. His wounds from Uhtred were different and yet the same. They were too raw; he had been cut too deeply. How could his brother choose the saxons over him again? 

Brida sighed in her sleep, breathing deeply as she shifted in the furs on their bed, turning towards him. He shifted down from where he was sitting so he could watch the dreams dance across her face. It was not like her to sleep so late. His hand traced the curve of her hip under the furs and he smiled; how strange and beautiful life was to find them both here together. 

“What. are. you. doing.”

He paused his hand at the top of her hip. She hadn’t opened her eyes but he smiled as he answered, her skin hot under his palm.

“I am welcoming you to another day.” 

“I am sleeping.” 

His hand slowly started upwards across her ribs.

“You don’t sound like you’re sleeping.” 

He hesitated briefly at the edge of her breast, gauging her reaction. The smallest twitch flashed across her lips and his body pulsed, shifting closer to her. His fingers brushed gently but firmly across her skin. He could feel her tense but she didn’t move for him yet. Ragnar drew back the furs and shifted further down as he brought his mouth to Brida’s skin. 

“Ragnar.” 

His name was a soft moan in her mouth as her annoyance melted away. His tongue traced and flicked across her breast as his hands pulled her hips closer. He wanted to peel away the anger she had been carrying for weeks, he wanted to bring her pleasure; just a moment for them to escape. She had been so withdrawn, so furious, and his heart had been so broken, he needed her now.

“Ragnar!”

Cnut’s voice echoed outside their room, slicing through the morning. 

Ragnar’s lips traced the curves of Brida’s stomach as his hands drew her hips towards him.

“Ragnar!” His cousin’s voice was now directly outside and his fist pounded on the door. 

“Go away or I’ll take your balls!” Brida shouted as she shifted in Ragnar’s hands. He laughed as glanced up at her, the anger in her voice betrayed by the desire on her face. 

The pounding on the door only increased. “Ragnar! You must come now!”

“I will be there in a few minutes cousin!” 

“It’s news of Uhtred.” 

Ragnar paused. He could almost hear Brida swallow her breath as her body tensed, a visible anger and fear swimming through her. He swallowed his voice; a bit question in his head screamed what he could not ask out loud. 

Was his brother dead? 

He pushed the question from his mind as he stood up, his eyes glued to Brida’s. He pulled on his pants as she watched him. She made no move to rise from the bed. 

Cnut’s voice returned. “Ragnar?”

“Coming.” His voice was hardly a whisper but his cousin must have heard him somehow because he remained silent. 

Ragnar’s breathing calmed as he stared into his lover’s eyes. A piece of each of them belonged to Uhtred. He was forever part of their story no matter how many times he left and returned. 

Ragnar only opened the door once he pulled on his boots and tunic. Cnut was leaning against the stone wall, his face unreadable. 

“Apologies for disturbing you cousin,” he said. 

“You have news.” It wasn’t a question. Ragnar wanted to know what had pulled him from Brida. Whatever it was, he knew it would effect their growing Dane army and their future destruction of the Saxons.

“Follow me,” Cnut said as he led Ragnar out towards the courtyard. 

There was a small crowd of people gathered around someone but it was growing in size. Cnut pushed through to the center and men moved when they saw Ragnar was with him.

At the center of the circle was a man so bloody and dirty he was almost unrecognizable. Ragnar was sure he was one of Haeston’s men who left to find Uhtred. He was shaking as he leaned on another man and Ragnar realized this man could hardly stand. The crowd around them was murmuring as Ragnar turned to Cnut. 

“What does this have to do with Uhtred? Who is this?” 

“This is Lefic. It took him four days to walk here.”

Ragnar glanced back at the man, realizing his boots where falling apart. He didn’t have any weapons on him. 

“Lefic.” Cnut stepped toward the man to gain his gaze and the attention of the crowd. “Tell Ragnar what you told me.” 

The men gathered grew silent as Lefic swallowed, his eyes trying to focus on Ragnar’s face. 

“I - “ His voice broke from exhaustion. “Dead - dead.” 

Ragnar could feel his stomach twist, the air from his lungs kicked out of him. His father’s face flashed in his mind, he could picture the way his father would pull Uhtred into his embrace when he was just a boy, how he made this Saxon boy his son. Ragnar closed his eyes briefly as his brother’s laugh echoed in his mind. 

“Who? Who is dead?” Cnut pushed Lefic. 

Ragnar swallowed. He almost turned away, he couldn’t bear to hear the words. Lefic gritted his teeth and spit the name into the air. 

“The Lady of Mercia.”


	21. Chapter 21

“She - she cant be.”

Alfred’s hand trembled slightly as he brought it to his lips. He shut his eyes ever so briefly as he tried to grasp the words hanging like a curse around him.

His daughter. Her smile flashed in his mind over and over again.

Steapa gasped before coughing, his breath soft and ragged behind Alfred.

“I - I am sorry my Lord,” the messenger was staring at the floor, clearly desperate to be anywhere but here in front of the king.

“How - how did it happen?” His voice broke but Alfred couldn’t help himself. He had to know.

“It’s not clear yet but reports are that she was killed in combat -“

“Combat?” Alfred felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “Where? With whom?”

“Danes, Lord.”

Alfred sat in stunned silence.

The empty room was cold, the air damp, winter a sudden threat in every corner of Winchester today. He took a deep, rattling breath.

Aethaelflaed’s letter when Alfwynn arrived many weeks ago had mentioned nothing of danger, nothing of battle or Danes.

He had been surprised to see Alfwynn of course but he trusted his daughter. She had wished for her own daughter to spend time with her grandparents getting to know them- the hint that Alfred’s time on this earth was short was unsaid but a logical reason hiding under her words. She wanted them to care for Alfwynn until Aethaelflaed herself sent for her.

Aethaelflaed joked of Edward receiving some much needed first hand practice at being an uncle and promised she would visit soon. There were instructions for them to keep Alfwynn close, to not send her back to Mercia if her father came calling. It was no secret to  
Alfred that his daughter had little love in her marriage, that Aethelred even seemed to despise his own daughter. Frankly Alfred hadn’t been alarmed by the instructions.

“Where - has her body been recovered?”  
His voice was hardly a whisper.

The messenger glanced between Alfred and Steapa, who was gripping the back of the throne with intensity.

“Word has it Lord that her body is in Cumbraland - with King Guthred.”

Alfred paused, puzzled.

Who would have thought to take her there? Why had she been in combat at all?

“That - that is good, my Lord,” Steapa spoke softly for the first time. “She will be in the care of Christian men. They will see she is properly buried.” His voice broke on the last word. He cleared his throat.

Alfred nodded but his mind was elsewhere. If his daughter had the foresight to send Alfwynn to him, she must have known she was in danger and she must not have trusted those around her in Mercia. His fingers scratched the corners of his beard. Why the Danes? What would have put her in their path—?

He paused, the wheels in his mind spinning as anger boiled inside of him.

“No!” He shouted as he flung his arm out, smashing the goblet next to him. The cup flew across the throne room, clattering across the floor with a comical thundering. The messenger flinched, fear etched across his face.

“Lord?” Steapa asked surprised. “What is wrong?”

Alfred shook his head. “It is not what Steapa. It is who. Who would have brought my daughter in danger of the Danes. Who would have allowed her to be murdered. Who would have brought her body to Guthred of Cumbraland.”

There was a pregnant pause as the two men waited for the king to finish his sentence and the king dragged out his next word like a curse, as if he were whipping a javelin through the air.

“Uhtred.

Uhtred the godless.

Uhtred the betrayer.

Uhtred the Dane Slayer.

He has murdered the Lady of Mercia.

I want him found. I want him brought before me and put to trial and for there to be justice.

Now.”

 

* *

 

_A week prior._

 

The sun flashed in Uhtred’s eyes as he wiped the sweat from his brow. He had been cut a number of times - the worst was the slice across his stomach - he didn’t think it was too deep but it was long and every time he swung Serpent Breath it twisted and stung, more blood spilling out of him.

“Had enough Dane Slayer?”

Haeston was enjoying the day. He hadn’t stopped smiling even when Uhtred had killed three of his men in hand to hand combat in this god forsaken field.

“I was just getting started,” Uhtred shrugged.

He glanced at the horse he had stolen, her body sprawled in the grass. Her belly had stopped heaving but her death had been long. He knew his own death would be the same if he did not keep his wits about him.

“My men will have slaughtered your camp by now.” Haeston mused as he stared up at the sun.

Uhtred smiled as he caught his breath in the pause of battle. “I look forward to introducing myself to them.”

“I had hoped to bring you back to Bloodhair alive but I’m not sure you’ll last Uhtred,” Haeston laughed and nodded to one of his men to move forward towards Uhtred; the man was tall, built like an ox.

The Dane Slayer moved quickly, metal clashed against metal as his feet moved instinctively, shaping the earth beneath his body. Haeston’s men heckled as Uhtred and the ox man locked their swords repeatedly. One excited man with dreadlocks jumped forward from the crowd, kicking Uhtred from behind and thrusting him forward before he regained balance. Both men moved on him - he heard Haeston shout something but he couldn’t afford to look away from the axe and sword blowing down on him. Ox man grit his teeth as Uhtred grabbed Wasp Sting from his hip and slipped her up through his opponent’s ribs. Ox man staggered but did not stop as dreadlocks took the opportunity to raise his ax.

But before he could swing the weapon down against Uhtred’s arm, the man’s face paused, horrified for a split second at something or someone behind Uhtred.

  
And then he was decapitated.

  
Uhtred barely registered the dark horse and its rider as they blazed past, dreadlocks flying through the air.

The Dane Slayer moved like lightening, a burst of adrenaline rushing through him as he attacked Ox man, pushing him on the defensive until he ran his sword through his throat.

As he pulled his sword from the dead body, hands grabbed him from behind and shoved him to his knees. A knife was suddenly at his throat and he realized how quickly the scene around him had shifted.

Haeston’s men were still surrounding him, but instead of facing him, they were in a protective circle facing outwards. Two men held him in place on the ground and Haeston was shouting, turning his horse in circles.

And there, outside this half moon circle, were Uhtred’s men.

“Haeston!” Finan’s voice rang out across the field like a beacon.

Haeston’s face was etched in fury. He was shouting at his men and searching the forest and horizon, perhaps for his other forces.

Haeston’s men were nervous: they were almost evenly matched in numbers now and the mood had shifted from victory to uneasiness.

Finan inched Uhtred’s men forward and the Danes holding Uhtred tightened their grip.

“No further Irishman! Or I’ll have them cut the fingers off your Lord one by one!” Haeston spat, his voice angry and nervous.

Finan paused.

“We will take Uhtred back with us.”

“Back? Back where?” Haeston sneered.

“Well we’d like to collect the weapons we left with your dead men in our camp, so I’d say back through the woods.”

Haeston’s face froze in an ugly sneer. “You lie.”

“Aw I wish I did big man.” Finan chuckled as he wiped sweat from his brow.

“If my men are dead, where is Aethelflaed? I want to see her.”

Finan stopped smiling.

“I cannot give her to you.”

“I will trade your Dane Slayer for the Lady of Mercia.”

Finan stared at Haeston in silence.  
  
“I cannot do that.”

“Then he dies.” Haeston nodded to his men holding Uhtred. One of the men swung his dagger across his captive’s arm, slicing a deep cut into his flesh.

Uhtred grunted through clenched teeth. He readied himself for the next blow but Finan called out before the Danes could continue.

“I cannot do what you ask because I do not have Aethelflaed.”

“Bullshit.” Haeston shouted. “My scouts have seen her with you -“

“I do not have her because she is dead.” Finan replied.

Uhtred felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach. It wasn’t possible. Finan must be bluffing —

Finan raised a heavy cloth from his saddle and held it up in the sunlight. The cloak was soaked red, dripping blood, the royal emblem of Mercia etched on the lapel. It was Aethelflaed’s, no question. Uhtred couldn’t breathe - how could he have failed her?

He had been foolish, staying in the area hoping to draw Haeston out of Dunholm but perhaps he had been too careless. His dreams had shifted from Bebbanburg to Aethelflaed’s smile and he did not know where the path ahead was meant to lead him. Revenge had been sweet on his tongue but he had been blind. He blinked back the tears stinging his eyes and looked up at his men.

Ruse was staring at the ground, grief etched on his face as Finan talked to Haeston but Sihtric - Sihtric was staring straight at Uhtred. They held each other’s gaze for a minute before Sihtric nodded briefly at his Lord. Then he turned his horse with a shout and fled into the woods.

Haeston’s men paused, the world momentarily in slow motion while they stared after Sihtric.

Uhtred quietly slipped Wasp Sting from his belt and into the stomach of the man holding the knife against his throat and the world in that field exploded into death and action.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the patience over the past month -- had to take a break from posting but hope this chapter was worth the wait! 
> 
> There are (of course) some time jumps happening here -- Alfred receives the news about Athealflaed a few days after Ragnar does and then we jump back in time to Uhtred being held captive in the field with Haeston :)


	22. Chapter 22

Sihtric’s arms ached, screaming for him to shift the weight he had been cradling for hours but he had been through much worse so he ignored his body. He could see the faint glow of a town on the road ahead as dusk rose around him. They must be close.

As long as she was still breathing — he shifted his left hand from the reins he had been clutching for hours, his muscles stiff and cramped, and slipped his finger hesitantly across her body to feel against her ribs. The fabric of the dress he touched was rough and sticky with dried blood but with the pounding of the horse jostling their bodies, he wasn’t sure if he could still feel the rise and fall of her breath anymore. He swore, urging his horse to run even harder.

Sihtric held Aethelflaed in his arms and for the second time in several weeks, her life was reliant on him.

He hadn’t been sure she would still be alive when he returned to Osferth in the woods but she was - her breath shallow, her mind unconscious, her skin covered in dirt and blood. The forest was quiet around them - Haeston’s men had not followed Sihtric.

He had wasted no words on Osferth’s questions - just ordered him to leave Aethelflaed’s horse as he swept her up onto the saddle in front of him. Her body was smaller than he’d imagined - perhaps when he watched her move and fight in combat she was so unabashedly fierce she seemed larger than life. But here in his arms, she was breakable, vulnerable.

He wrapped rope around Aethelflaed’s waist to tie her to him so she would not slip off the horse — they had at least a day to ride and she was unconscious.

“Where are we heading?” Osferth asked as he climbed up on his horse. He had left Aethelflaed and Uhtred’s horses tied up in the grove of trees.

“Guthred,” Sihtric responded and yelled for his horse to move.

They had ridden through the night without stopping. It wasn’t until the new day had broken did Sihtric allow them to stop and rest for a few minutes. He carefully laid Aethelflaed in the shade of a huge tree, rested her head on his knee and checked that she was still breathing.

“Water,” he called hoarsely to Osferth as the monk led their horses to a shallow stream to drink. Osferth hurried to his side with a flask as Sihtric lifted Aethelflaed up, her eyes fluttering. “Drink,” he whispered to her as he tipped the water to her lips. He wanted to check her wounds but he did not know what to do if he did. There was so much dried blood but her visible arm wound seemed to have stopped bleeding with the bandage Finan had secured. They needed a healer to help her live now.

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, their exhaustion and fear palpable. The morning was cloudy but no rain so there was something to be thankful for today.

“You should ride ahead,” Sihtric said to Osferth, his voice breaking through the sound of Aethelflaed’s soft breath and the rustle of leaves in the wind. But the monk shook his head firmly.

“If you’re attacked, you can’t protect her and yourself at the same time,” Osferth said. His fingers toyed with a blade of grass. “And Finan will kill me if anything happens to her.”

So they rode on together, not stopping for anything or anyone as the sun slipped through the cloudy sky.

They arrived in Cumbraland as dusk arrived, pounding past the farming huts on the outskirts of the town as curious eyes watched them. They were a strange sight - a monk with a Dane warrior dressed for battle and a dead woman.

The sleepy town was turning in for the night as they arrived at the King’s lodgings. Sihtric untied Aethelflaed and lowered her off the horse with Osferth’s help. Two guards hustled forward as Sihtric lifted her back into his arms and Osferth tied their horses to a post.

“What business do you have here?” A squinty eyes man asked Sihtric as the Dane kept walking up the wide stairs.

“We must see the King immediately.”

“He is meeting with his priest at the moment - you’ll have to wait.”

The guard stepped in front of Sihtric and Osferth, attempting to block their path.

Sihtric was exhausted but anger was coursing through him - he was too close to be denied now

“This is the Lady of Mercia. She is near dead. And we will see him now.”

He had no time for the guards’ protests as he shoved through the men who half heartedly tried to stop him. They were unsure of the dead woman in his arms and the claim of who she was but they were unwilling to fight the man holding her.

Osferth followed, his short sword and staff in hand, as Sihtric rushed up the steps and into the King’s quarters. He shifted Aethelflaed so her head rested against his neck. Was that breath against his skin? He couldn’t be sure. He shuddered. The hallway opened up to a large room with narrow windows lit by candles and lanterns. Guthred was standing over a table with a priest Sihtric had never seen before, both in deep contemplation, speaking hushed tones. The light cast strange shadows across the room, as if long ghosts stood behind the men.

“Guthred!” Sihtric called out as he slowed his speed and the two guards hustled in after them.

Guthred looked up at the intruders and the blood in his face drained as he stared across the room.

 

*

 

The waiting was worse than he could have imagined. Osferth had thought the past two days were agony but at least there had been purpose and urgency fighting and riding. Now he could do nothing but wait and he had stood in silence so long he wasn’t sure he still had a voice.

When they had arrived in the great hall to meet Guthred, there had been chaos. The king of Northumbria seemed to grasp the urgency of the situation and the importance of King Alfred’s daughter being delivered to his doorstep half dead but it was clear he wasn’t happy about it. The priest, Father Chancer, put up a fight when Sihtric requested a pagan healer be brought immediately to tend to Aethelflaed but his argument didn’t last long. Sihtric actually drew his sword after shifting Aethelflaed to a chair, and swiftly trapped the priest against the stone wall with his forearm across the man’s throat as the guards flailed.

“I swear I will cut out your tongue priest and sacrifice it to Odin to save this woman.”

Osferth has seen Sihtric’s rage unleashed in the heat of battle but to witness it in a confined space up close with a king standing next to him was terrifying.

Father Chancer tried to reply but only choked air seemed to escape his lips.

“Sihtric,” Osferth cleared his throat, “we must get Aethelflaed somewhere to tend to her.”

The Dane hissed at Father Chancer before releasing him to crumble on the ground at his feet, gasping.

“Show us where we can lay her and call your healer Lord.” Sihtric spat at Guthred as he picked Aethelflaed back up.

Hours had passed since then.

Osferth had helped lay his half-sister on the bed in a large room upstairs but when the healer arrived she made everyone but Sihtric leave. The wrinkled, squat pagan woman was named Nirida and she didn’t waste words and didn’t want priests. She ordered Sihtric to hold various cloths and tools and herbs and ointments as she worked and Father Chancer argued with Guthred by the doorway about the situation.

“Get out!” Nirida waved a hand and shouted at the men as she turned back to Sihtric. “Cut her out of this dress.”

Sihtric paled but nodded as he removed his dagger from its sheath.

“Lord you cannot allow this!” Father Chancer protested, his thin face twisted in anger. “This pagan must remove his hands at once!”

Guthred hesitated, contemplating whether or not to stop what was happening but Osferth grabbed Father Chancer’s arm and pulled him from the room before the king of the north could make up his mind.

And now he had stood in this hallway so long his body seemed to blend into the tapestries. No one paid attention to him as the occasional servant shuffled past and Guthred and the priest fell into conversation.

Father Chancer had gone quiet for a brief period of time but his anger was back in hushed tones, discussing what was best for Guthred and Northumbria in this political situation.

“Lord we must provide a proper blessing for the Lady of Mercia before these pagans kill her. She is essentially an heir to Alfred - she must be saved and only the Lord’s Prayer can save her now. I can have a dozen priests by morning - the Town’s people should gather in morning prayer and donate a shilling per household in the name of our Lady of Mercia -“

“No.” Osferth whispered, his throat like sandpaper, his body tingling as he seemed to wake from a deep sleep on his feet.

Chancer appeared to not hear him or blatantly ignored him as he continued. “We need to think about what is best for you right now Lord and if she dies, you could make her a Saint right here on this very ground. Peasants would travel - Alfred would be indebted - this would be a holy place!”

“No,” Osferth spoke louder this time, surprised by the firmness in his own voice.

“What was that boy?” Chancer hissed.

Osferth stepped closer to Chancer and Guthred. “You can not tell anyone Aethelflaed is here.”

“Why not?”

Osferth edged even closer and Guthred almost recoiled.

“Because they need to believe she is dead.”

“Who?”

“The Danes.”

Guthred was unable to stare directly at Osferth, glancing around the dim hallway until he could ask another question. “And - whose blood are you covered in?”

Osferth was surprised - he glanced down at his hands and remembered they were caked in dirt and blood, that he himself had wounds to tend to, that he and Sihtric must have looked like madmen when they arrived.

“Danes blood Lord. Many many Danes.”

Guthred nodded but looked nervous. “And Lord Uhtred? Where is he?”

“He, uh —“

Before he could answer Osferth was interrupted by the door to Lady Aethelflaed’s room finally opening.

Sihtric emerged and Osferth realized just how terrible the two of them must look. Exhaustion was stitched into the warrior’s face which was also coated in blood, even his leather armor looked like it had specks of hair and skin follicles splatted across it. They looked psychotic. 

Sihtric glanced at the expectant three men and sighed.

“She is barely alive.” He hesitated before continuing. “No one can know she is here. And everyone must believe she is dead. Only Nirida is to care for her. Osferth and I will stand guard. And I will murder your priest if anything I say is not done.”

King Guthred stared at Sihtric for a long time before nodding his head in agreement. Father Chancer sputtered as Guthred turned on his heel and marched down the hallway, the priest running after him.

Sihtric leaned back against the wall and slid down to the ground, his hands catching his face as his shoulders relaxed in the sudden silence. It was the middle of the night and they were finally alone.

Osferth paused as he sat down, folding his hands over his knees. “What do we do now?”

Sihtric raised his head to stare at the monk. Two bastard sons of fathers who did not want them. Two warriors without a Lord. Two men who would have to stay awake a bit longer.

“We guard.”


	23. Chapter 23

Thud.

Brida’s ax landed in the wooden target dead center. Her mouth was set in a grim line as she walked forward, ripped the blade out of the wood and walked back even farther this time. She raised her arm, breathed deep and released.

Thud.

“You’re moping.”

Brida marched forward and ripped the blade out of the target again before turning to face the voice in the doorway.

“I’m not moping. I’m practicing.”

Estrid rolled her eyes at her friend’s response. Her lean frame was relaxed in the doorway, arms folded across her body.

“And what exactly are you practicing for?”

Thud.

Brida bristled. “I’m imagining Uhtred’s head.”

“How do you know he’s not already dead?” Estrid asked nonchalantly.

Brida shrugged. “He’s slippery. I have to be ready to kill him myself in case these men fuck it up again.”

Estrid laughed. “Spoken like a true woman.” The silence filled the small courtyard as Brida threw and walked and grunted in repetition.

Warriors and soldiers had filled the village and the main halls and stables and entrance of Dunholm with their drunken laughter and talk of war over the past days. But the council room was filled with the leaders of those warriors and Brida was tired of their indecisiveness so she had slipped out back to clear her head.

Estrid cleared her throat. “You know, they’re lost without you in there.”

Brida laughed. “I do not want to listen to their bickering anymore. Their cocks only get smaller the more they compare them.”

“True.” Estrid smiled as she moved to sit atop a barrel and leaned back against the wall. “But if you don’t say something that piece of shit Aethelwold will keep dripping his poison in everyone’s ears and Ragnar might listen -“

“I don’t care what Ragnar does.” Brida spat as she wrenched the ax once again from her target.

Estrid raised her eyebrow. “Sounds like you do. Did you two have a fight?”

Brida didn’t respond. In truth, she didn’t know how to explain how she felt in words. Actions felt good. Movement felt good. Cool evening air felt good. She breathed deep. She needed to keep her anger in check - she had been wild these past few weeks, lashing out at anyone who looked at her the wrong way. These Saxon traitors were making her stir crazy. She wanted to attack - for her and Ragner to lead a great Dane army and prevent Wessex from growing. She wanted Uhtred’s precious king to be dead.

“You’ve been standing out here throwing at an immovable object for too long.“ Estrid said, jumping off the barrel and walking over to her friend. She unhooked her own ax from her belt. “Let’s make a bet. If I win, you come back inside and you take this council by the balls. If you win, you can stay out here and I’ll help you behead Uhtred when the time comes.”

Brida let a small smile slip onto her face. “And the challenge?”

“Moving apple.” Estrid grinned, plucking two from inside the barrel she’d been sitting atop. Brida nodded.

Estrid walked back to Brida’s target, turned, and tossed the first apple upwards as Brida released her ax. She hit the target but only nicked the apple as gravity pulled it back to the ground. She shrugged. “Your turn.”

Estrid grinned and switched places with Brida, raising her ax at the ready. The apple was tossed up and on its way back down, Estrid’s ax sliced the fruit perfectly in two before slamming into the target.

“You cheat.” Brida laughed. “How long did you practice that?”

Estrid smiled as she picked up the apple slices from the dirt. “Only a few years.”

The two women walked back inside, twisting through the narrow dark hallways of Dunholm to find their way to the council’s meeting room. The fires were burning low, the smoke thick. Bloodhair was in the middle of speaking when the two Danish women entered and he hesitated before continuing.

“— we don’t know for sure what happened - we are deciding our next moves on the word of a half dead man who abandoned battle.”

Estrid took a seat near Cnut, her boots resting on the hearth in front of her, as she bit into one of her apple slices. Brida envied how comfortable Estrid was at all times, slipping seamlessly from one situation to the next.

Brida stayed standing, partially cast in shadows around the seated men. Her heart was already pounding as their eyes grazed over her. She knew what they saw; her wolf blood heart, her wild temper, the slash of her knife, the quick threats her tongue sewed into the air.

“Brida,” Ragnar said, nodding to her. “Good to have you back.” His eyes flickered to Estrid and back. Of course he had sent her.

“Aethelred.” Ragnar nodded to the thin Mercian Lord draped in green who cleared his throat and set down his cup.

“The Mercians can join you in your march on Wessex...”

Brida noticed Aethelred’s right hand man Aeldhelm lurking behind his lord and looking uncomfortable.

“...but news arrived today that my late wife’s body has been delivered to King Guthred and I will first march to retrieve it.”

Aethelwold sputtered into his goblet - the man was already drunk on greed but Brida thought he was likely also drunk on alcohol.

“Retrieve her body?! That will take weeks!!” Alfred’s nephew cried out. “It will delay us —“

“Yes but I am going to march into Wessex with the Lady of Mercia,” he sneered, “as my battering ram. If Alfred is not already dead then he will surely die at the sight of his dead daughter’s corpse at the head of my army and then I shall be rid of them both once and for all.”

Aethelwold looked conflicted by the joy of Alfred’s death and the frustration of delaying their Wessex takeover any longer. He had been waiting years to be king of Wessex and he would tell anyone who lingered too long around him.

“We should be heading South,” Brida said softly.

“Without the Mercians?” Aethelwold scoffed. “We need to crush Alfred - not just wound him.”

“More Danes will come as we march. Word will spread and our army will grow.” Brida kept her voice even though she wanted to throw something at the Saxon.

A slap interrupted the conversation as Cnut withdrew his hand from Estrid’s thigh, rubbing the skin on his knuckles.

“Next time will be with a knife,” she smiled.

Bloodhair cleared his throat. “I will go with Aethelred to Cumbraland - if Uhtred is alive I will murder him and then join you on the march South. His children are alive in Wessex and I will be the one who wipes out his seed forever.”

Aethelwold raised a goblet, “To the demise of children!” He drained the contents of his cup, a stream of liquid spilling down his chin.

“To Edward,” Aethelred smirked, taking a sip of his own drink.

“We will decide in the morning,” Ragnar said, standing up. Cnut nodded, as Aethelred and Aethelwold began to sing a drunken tune about the demise of children. Brida noticed Aldhelm slip out quietly as Ragnar touched her arm.

“Brida,” he said softly. “You can’t run off whenever you feel like it. We need you here tomorrow.”

Anger flashed inside of her as tension surged in her curled fingers. She had the urge to slap him across the face but she just glared up at him.

“I am my own woman. I can do what I please.”

He sighed, keeping his voice quiet, his face close to hers. “You are. But I need you here with me. To lead with me.”

She reminded herself to breathe. “Why did you send Estrid after me?”

“I knew you’d listen to her. She’s persuasive.” He smiled. “It’s late - go to bed and I will join you shortly.”

Ragnar brushed his warm hand against her cheek and she nodded. He seemed capable of lighting the match and extinguishing the flame of her anger all within seconds. 

She scowled at the drunk Saxon lords as she turned to leave. Cnut was talking in hushed tones to Bloodhair, who had found a bone to gnaw. She worried about the two of them; were they plotting on their own? How many conversations had her anger kept her alienated from? Who could she really trust here? The fires flickered as she left, the fort’s hum of life dying down for the night.

Brida glanced back as she turned the corner through the doorway. 

Ragnar was silhouetted in front of the dying fire, his body leaning close to Estrid, the woman warrior nodding in agreement to whatever Ragnar was asking of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my favorite chapters to write - love playing with the dynamics of all the Danes and really fun to finally have two women characters get to play off of each other. Hope you enjoy!


	24. Chapter 24

The forest’s shadows morphed into the faces of each of the men Finan had murdered over the past day, their last words and screams blurring with the song of the owls as he stared into the darkness. The night swallowed the call of the insects as the moon shifted through the clouds.

The tree branches swayed like dead men in the night coming for revenge but his body was too heavy to stand at the moment. His eyes begged for sleep. Muscles he didn’t even know he had ached and he just needed to sit here a few minutes longer in the cold and perhaps he would be able to get up soon.

The night stilled and Finan’s mind drifted.

Leaves crunched softly to his left and his eyelids snapped open, his sword already in hand.

“Asleep on the job?” Jorda’s voice was deep and quiet as Finan sighed in relief.

“I was tired of waiting for ye to come back,” Finan joked, his heart still racing. He had been careless - he couldn’t allow his exhaustion to take over him just yet.

Jorda stayed silent. He never said much but the man had saved Finan’s life more times than he could count and when Jorda did speak, it was somehow reassuring, like a stream coursing against a boulder to carve the stone.

“Did you find the horses?” Finan asked even though he was sure of the answer.

Jorda nodded. The moon shifted through the clouds, briefly illuminating the familiar carved scar across his dark face as he sheathed his weapon.

“Her body wasn’t there,” Jorda replied softly.

Finan sat back down against the cold wall of the cavern’s mouth. Deep behind him in the belly of the cave a flame flickered.

“Go ahead and warm yourself by the fire. I’ll be alright.”

Jorda’s footsteps echoed softly until he disappeared. The sun would wake in the next couple hours and they would need to keep moving.

Finan rubbed his hand over his face, massaging the tenderness at his temple as the last day replayed in his mind.

The field; green rolling hills and blood, everywhere he looked there were dead men and horses and limbs. Elfrich’s screams echoed as his arm was trampled by Haeston’s horse, the limb hanging loosely at a strange angle. Finan’s sword seemed to have a mind of its own as it leapt and bit at the Danes who hacked at Uhtred’s men as if rabid beasts.

Roose was shouting - pointing at a figure running away, disappearing over the next ridge - but Finan didn’t have time or men to chase after the deserter. Rypere was dancing with his ax swinging between two men and Jorda moved like a wolf through a pack of deer, his body twisting in inhuman ways to murder his enemies.

The grass turned to mud under their feet as the sun beat down on them, Haeston screaming obscenities as Uhtred wretched him off his horse, throwing him to the ground with a crash.

Uhtred seemed to forget his weapons as he ripped off Haeston’s helmet and punched him in the face. A blade slipped inside Finan’s arm, brushing along the armor at his ribs but it didn’t penetrate. Roose took a sharp elbow to the face as Rypere cracked a skull with his ax.

A Dane gurgled on his blood as Finan stepped over his body. Uhtred’s hands were around Haeston’s throat. “You piece of weasel shit!” The Dane Slayer’s voice blurred with the screams and cries of battle as Haeston’s face purpled, his eyes bulging as his left hand grasped at Uhtred’s face, fingers scraping flesh. In a swift movement of desperation, Haeston’s right hand whipped a dagger up into Uhtred’s side and Uhtred grunted as he jumped back - he was armorless but not without weapons. He picked up Serpant Breath as Haeston tried to stand up.

Jorda slashed the throat of a burly man with corse red hair as Finan drove his sword through the belly of a young man with rotting teeth. Rypere was leaning over Elfrich at the end of their bloody battle field, tying some sort of sling around his arm to hook around his neck. From elbow down it looked as if Elfrich’s bone had been replaced with a soft lifeless animal, swinging and dangling in a way that turned Finan’s stomach.

Roose was still fighting a man who had managed to get a blade into his mouth and sliced it upward from his lip - cutting a thick slice of flesh open - until Finan’s boot connected with the Dane’s legs and he collapsed under the Irishman’s weight.

“I’ll do it -“ Roose tried to say but he spit blood everywhere as he raised his sword and slammed it into the sprawled Dane’s stomach.

Finan turned in time to see Uhtred crack Haeston across the face with the hilt of Serpent Breath, knocking the Dane back. As Finan got closer it became apparent just how injured Uhtred was - his tunic was soaked in sweat, dirt and blood - but Haeston’s freshly inflicted wound glistened and gurgled from a small slit in the fabric.

“You can’t kill me Dane Slayer,” Haeston spat as he lunged with his ax.

Uhtred held the wound at his side but the blood seemed to pour through his fingers as he blocked the ax.

“Uhtred!” Finan shouted. He was close, jogging through bodies. Jorda took a fresh wound to his left arm as he drove his short sword through a Dane with one ear.

Haeston smiled as he wielded his ax and sword, lunging and retreating, his eyes gleaming. “I didn’t kill your princess Uhtred but I wish I had. Seems as though your Irishman didn’t want me to have the chance.”

Finan circled around Haeston from the back and sliced his sword across Haeston’s calves, causing the Dane to stumble to his knees.

Uhtred put Serpant Breath to Haeston’s throat and kicked his ax from his hand.

“You will not be going to Valhalla,” Uhtred spat, his voice brimming with venom. “Finan.”

Finan brought his sword down upon Haeston’s other wrist, hacking at the hand that clung to his sword until the prisoner released it.

Uhtred lifted Serpant Breath so her point was against the Dane’s esophagus and slammed the blade downward, unflinching as Haeston’s throat exploded and his blood choked out.

Finan glanced around the field. Rypere was gathering up their horses which had strayed from the killing as Jorda picked through silver arm bands from the dead. Roose was dropping his sword into the guts of Danes to check that they weren't still alive.

Uhtred spat blood as he stepped over Haeston’s body and pulled his friend close.

“Is she really dead?”

Finan stared into his brother’s eyes, unsure of how to quench the fear hiding there.

“She was barely alive when we left her,” he admitted.

Uhtred grasped his shoulder and shook him, “I can’t save the limb - you have to wake up.”

Finan’s brow creased. “What Lord?”

Uhtred shoved him. “Wake up!”

Finan opened his eyes to Rypere’s angry face.

The world was dark and Finan was leaning against the edge of the cavern, shivering.

“I need your help Finan, I can’t save Elfrich’s arm,” Rypere said gruffly. He grasped the Irishman’s hand and pulled him to his feet.

They didn’t speak of Finan’s slumber; they walked silently together toward the light in the belly of the cave.

 

* *

 

For three days it had been quiet.

No Danes. No Uhtred. The last battle seemed almost like a dream.

It was dusk when Sihtric finally left the palace and washed himself in a creek outside of town. He didn’t remember undressing but he did remember the water turning red as he let his limbs sink into the cold stream, the blood finally washing off of his body as he scrubbed. He had only left his place outside of Aethelflaed’s room because Osferth had threatened him with reciting Christian scripture if he didn’t clean himself.

“Besides, the wall is starting to indent from your body leaning against it,” the baby monk had joked with a small smile.

Sihtric had scowled at him but in truth, his back ached from his spot against the stone wall. He must have slept at some point but he imagined death whether his eyes were open or close. Sometimes his mother screamed his name and sometimes the tapestries on the walls swayed but Sihtric had not left the hallway.

Nirida refused his offers of help after their first arrival so instead he witnessed her coming and going. She didn’t tell him much —  a sinking feeling gnawed at his mind. The pagan healer had him cut off Aethelflaed’s dress when they were first tending to her. The arm wound was deep and serious — the Lady of Merica had lost a lot of blood and truly Finan saved her life up until now with his bandage. But there were other serious injuries that Sihtric was unsure of — purple bruises covered her ribs, cuts and gashes across her white skin, swelling in her left ankle — and she hadn’t woken up.

As Sihtric walked back through the sleepy town, steam rose from his body. It was night now and the temperature had dropped. The ground crunched underfoot and Sihtric began to notice things he hadn’t paid attention to in his tired haste to reach the creek. There seemed to be more people on the streets and the taverns and inns were busier tonight. He’d hardly left the palace grounds so perhaps he was imagining the hustle and bustle but he ducked into a tavern called the Crow’s Eye.

Tables were crowded and men and women alike clambered around the fireplaces to warm their bodies. Laughter and chatter warmed Sihtric as he slipped along the wooden benches towards the owner. A stout man with a white moustache greeted him at the counter.

“What brings so many travellers to town?” the Dane inquired as he sipped his drink.

The man frowned at him. “You haven’t heard?”

Sihtric shook his head as he sank onto a stool. “No, I am only travelling through.”

The man eyed his shaved head and neck tattoo but was willing to share the exciting news, “The Lady of Mercia is dead. There will be a service to name her a saint within the week here in the square. The bishop will be there himself — many more people will be arriving soon—“

Sihtric had already dropped his cup and was halfway out the door before the man could finish his sentence.

_Dead. Dead. Dead._

The palace halls were a blur as Sihtric raced up the stairs.

Osferth startled to his feet from his place outside Aethelflaed’s door as he saw Sihtric coming down the hallway.

“Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Osferth said but Sihtric brushed his hand away and reached for the door handle and swung into Aethelflaed’s room.

The fire was alive in the hearth and Nirida was asleep in a chair on the other side of the bed. There were bandages and clothes on the old woman’s knee, a pale of water resting near her feet. A soft snoring emerged from her body as her chest rose and fell.

Osferth hovered in the doorway as Sihtric walked slowly towards the bed. He knelt next to the woman he was sworn to protect and hesitated ever so briefly. She couldn’t be.

Sihtric slipped his hand ever so softly into Aethelflaed’s palm, her skin warm from a fever, the faintest pulse singing against his skin.

But she did not wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years! This chapter had several false starts before the right version emerged -- hope you enjoy. I promise more chapters more frequently in the coming weeks :)


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Brief mention of sexual assault.

The Abbess slipped through the shadows of Winchester quietly, avoiding the occasional drunken argument and the candle light spilling from windows. The city had been uneasy the past few days and she did not want to be seen, not tonight.

When she reached her destination she paused, breathing deep, and rapped her knuckles quietly on the wooden door. There was a hushing of voices and footsteps in the house before the door cracked open and Thrya peered our.

“Hild!” She cried as she swung the door open and ushered in her friend.

The nun stepped into the small kitchen and lowered her hood as she embraced Thyra tightly in her arms. They clung to each other as the cold slipped off Hild’s cheeks and the lit hearth warmed her.

“Are you alright? Are the children well?” Thyra asked as they released each other.

Hild smiled at Uhtred’s sister, “Yes, we are all healthy.”

Father Beocca stood up from the table. “It’s good to see you Hild.”

She nodded to him briefly but looked curiously at the handsome man sitting across from Beocca at the table.

“Cerdric? What are you doing here - I thought you were in Coccham?” Hild asked in surprise.

Cerdric smiled at her, a tinge of sadness in his eye. “I assume you are here for the same reasons I am. To find out the truth.”

Hild nodded. “Is she really dead Father?”

Beocca looked crushed. “News of Lady Aethelflaed’s death has been confirmed by the King and word has it that Lord Guthred is holding a memorial service for her in the coming days. She is to be made a saint.” His voice broke on the last word and he cleared his throat.

Thyra touched his shoulder, “She is with her God now.”

“And what of Uhtred?” Hild asked.

She had heard rumors at the convent, whispers and gossip she didn’t want to believe. It was her duty to protect Uhtred’s children and she needed to find out what was happening, she needed to know how to navigate this path. Hild has tried to ignore the pull she felt - she had prayed for days now, hoping the desire to know more would be satiated once she discovered her friend was alive and well.

Beocca sighed but Cerdric spoke before the priest could say anything.

“The King is sending his troops north to capture and kill Uhtred.”

“What?!” She couldn’t hide her shock. She knew Alfred was angry at Uhtred’s betrayal months ago but this was not the path Hild expected her king to take. “This is true?” Hild asked Beocca.

The priest nodded. “The King’s guard leaves in the next week - Alfred and the Lady Aelswith want... justice for their daughter. They believe it is Uhtred who is responsible for Lady Aethelflaed’s death and they have made up their minds. Steapa will lead his men to Cumbraland and is to bring the Lord Uhtred back to Wintchester for trial or kill him trying.”

“This is madness - Uhtred would never harm Aethelflaed -“ Hild was angry, the fire flame growing in her chest.

“We here at this table know that but it will not change the King’s mind,” Beocca said quietly.

“Uhtred needs us Hild.” Cerdric was staring at her, his eyes determined.

“Us?” The Abbess was surprised, her heart suddenly in her throat.

Cerdric had fought alongside Uhtred for years but had chosen to stay in Coccham when The Dane Slayer left in banishment months ago. He could make a living as a farmer, a steadier life than a warrior with an outlaw for a Lord. But he was not the only man who stayed behind.

“There are a number of us who are leaving to go north. Men who have fought with Uhtred, who support him. If he is still alive... he will need us. He will need you.”

Hild’s fingers curled into fists and she glanced down at them in surprise. It had been years since she had wielded a sword but the thought of the weight in her hands excited her. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

“I can’t; I must stay and make sure Uhtred’s children are safe.”

“I can care for them.” Thyra’s voice was soft but steady, cutting through the room with her familiar confidence.

“No Thyra -“ Hild tried to protest as the thought of running across a battlefield rose in her mind and her heart began racing again. She reached for the cross hanging around her neck as Thyra touched her arm.

“I can ensure my niece and nephews are safe; they can stay at the convent and continue with their schooling. But I cannot wield a sword the way you do; I cannot protect my brother like you can but I can protect his family.”

Thyra’s mind was made up, there was no hesitation in her voice.

Hild glanced at the faces around her. She had promised to give up her warrior life in thanks to God and had lived up to that promise for years now.

“Please Hild,” Cerdric whispered, his fingers clenching the edge of the table. She had fought alongside him, before this warrior became a farmer. She knew the strength of his hands and the length they would go to protect those beside him, knew the way he tilled the earth with care and consideration. He had learned his quiet strength from the best of men.

Years ago Hild had prayed to God in a stable, from the flat of her back as a man raped her. She had prayed for strength, for survival, for rescue and her prayers had been answered. Iseoult’s brown eyes had peered down at her from the heavens and Uhtred had saved Hild. He rescued her and clothed her and taught her how to fight. He had listened and cared for her and he had never broken a promise. He had been the answer to her most desperate prayer.

And now he needed her.

Hild breathed deep; she knew why she had come here tonight. She looked back at Cerdric with a steady heart.

“When do we leave?”

 

**

 

“ _Wake up_.”

The voice in the darkness was bitter and angry; there was a sourness to it like milk spoiling in the sun. The voice didn’t like to be ignored, it was hissing like a cornered cat but she kept her eyes shut. Just a little while longer and perhaps the voice would leave her alone.

“Wake up you stupid little girl.”

She hesitated, only one person in the world called her that. He called her that over and over again on their wedding night; when he wanted to humiliate her; when she refused to humble herself to him.

No the voice could not be him. How could he be here? He couldn’t. She had left him, she had escaped. He couldn’t have found her. Not here. Not in the darkness. But.. she had to be sure. So she opened her eyes.

The sun streamed into the small damp cell through a window up above her. She was huddled on the floor in the corner; everything ached in her body, her arm pulsed like her heart had moved out of her chest. And there in front of her was her husband.

Aethelred was draped in a long robe that glittered in the sudden sunlight. His face was wicked and he leered at her.

“Finally! You dare to open your eyes and join me!”

“How- “she swallowed. Her throat was sore, her voice hoarse. “How did you find me?”

“No the question is how dare you keep me waiting so long?” He kicked a bucket across the cell, splattering its contents across the far wall.

“How could you hide when everyone is waiting for you?” He hissed, kneeling in front of her just we suddenly as he’d kicked the bucket.

“Waiting for ... me?” She tried to understand.

“Yes my dear. Everyone is waiting for you because you are dead.”

“Dead?” She tried the word in her mouth and it was like trying to eat one of her father’s parchments.

“You. Are. Dead.”

She covered her face; she didn’t want him here anymore. She wanted to melt into the walls around her and disappear.

“Wake up.”

The voice in the darkness was different this time. It was a woman; it was angry but in a quiet way. A dangerous way.

She opened her eyes.

“Mother,” she whispered.

Aelswith was standing in the farthest corner of the cell; her hands clutched tightly in front her body as if she was afraid of what they might do.

“How could you do this to me?” Aelswith asked. Her voice was too high, it stabbed like a dagger in the dark.

“Do what?”

“Your father will die now. He cannot bear your death. He cannot live without you and I cannot live without him. How could you take him from me? You selfish girl! How could you?” Aelswith spat.

She covered her face; she did not want her mother. She did not want to live or die in this despair. She wanted to feel safe.

“Wake up.”

The voice in the darkness had grown hands. They were wrapped gently around her wrists; warm hands that had lived a hundred lives. She was not scared of this voice.

She opened her eyes.

Erik was kneeing before her. He was so close she could have kissed him. It had been months or years or decades since she had studied his face this closely and she did not waste a second memorizing each freckle and scar.

“My love,” he whispered. His voice was a flock of birds racing across the sky, a parent calling their child home, a sound so familiar she could wrap it around her and fall asleep.

She reached out her fingers hesitantly. Could she touch him? Was this a dream or was she dead? She brushed her fingers across his lips and she did not care if she ever woke up to another life again.

“Is this death? Is this what it feels like?” She asked him.

He smiled at her. “This would be a good valhalla. But it is not yours.” He brushed a hair from her forehead.

“Aethelred - my mother - they - they said I was dead.” She whispered it. She didn’t want it to be true. Not yet.

“They want you to give up. The dark parts of you know it would be easier. But the spinners have other plans for you. I have seen it. You are not done my love.” Erik smiled sadly.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” she was crying and she wasn’t even sure when it started.

“I never left,” he wiped a hot tear from her cheek as he studied her closely. “Our daughter made sure of that. And she needs you. Your kingdom needs you.” He paused before continuing. “Uhtred needs you.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“You are ready,” he leaned his forehead against hers.

“Ready for what?” She choked.

“To wake up, my love.

Wake up.

Wake up.”

Aethelflaed opened her eyes.

She was laying in a bed in a large room; a hearth burned across from her, a large basin to wash in sat in the corner. A small strange woman she had never seen before was clinking small bottles and folding bandages on top of a table across the room. 

And Sihtric was staring back at her.


	26. Chapter 26

Uhtred was awake before the sun but he stayed still on his back, watching as the light slowly crawled through the slit in the window and up across the thatch ceiling.

He tried to imagine his life before this one, the years he lived with his father Uhtred before he became Uhtred Ragnarsson but those days seemed like a distant dream, foggy in the morning sun. He still could picture Bebbanburg in his mind’s eye - the impenetrable fortress he craved and longed for. It was now a sanctuary from Danes and Saxons alike, too far away for Alfred’s long reach, a stronghold against the world, a new life for his children, a legacy he could be remembered for.

The chickens began scratching outside and as a rooster crowed much too loudly for comfort, the bodies around Uhtred shifted in their sleep, resisting the world just a little longer.

The Dane Slayer lifted up his tunic and grimaced as he inspected the wound Haeston had given him on his left side. There were scrapes and bruises across his ribs, a healing gash in his upper arm, a long scar scabbing on his abdomen, but the dagger wound that had sunk into the side of his stomach still stung even after six days.

The door to the thatched hut swung open and Bjorn's tall frame was briefly silhouetted in the doorway before entering the small space Uhtred and his men slept in. He set down a bag of seed and a few jars on the small table as his eyes adjusted to the dark room. Uhtred winced as the older man swung back the thin curtains he had hung from the windows, filling the room with the waking sun.

“Every fucking morning —“ Finan groaned from the floor on the other side of the room, covering his face with his arm.

“I’ll stop doing it when you stop cursing,” Bjorn said with a smirk as his eyes swept the floor of half sleeping men before connecting with Uhtred’s gaze. “Let’s see that wound of yours.”

Uhtred propped himself up on one arm and lifted his tunic again as the greying farmer bent his large body and knelt down, poking at the flesh around his injury.

“Fine... fine, yes... the worst has passed. No sudden movements with your left side and you’ll be good as new in a few days,” Bjorn said gruffly as he smeared some herb salve across the knife wound.

Uhtred breathed deep at the pain of contact but was grateful the infection was gone. His fever broke two days ago but he had asked Finan not to tell him everything he had said in his delusions. He didn’t want to know; the grim face Finan had stared at him with had been enough.

After Haeston’s death, his men had burned the bodies of the Danes in the field. They had gathered weapons and silver arms bands from their enemies before spending the first night dead on their feet in a small cave to the north. The memories were flashes now, Uhtred hadn’t known how much blood he’d lost or that the fever was already gnawing at him. They’d been too focused on Elfrich’s arm and Roose’s slit face; they all had wounds and exhaustion to carry. It was difficult to tell who was bleeding and who was just covered in a stranger’s blood.

Finan had pushed them to move on in the morning - he had said Bloodhair’s name over and over as a warning as Uhtred tried to stay atop his horse. The fever was eating away at him by the second night and Elfrich was mostly unconscious except when he woke up screaming from the pain so Jorda rode ahead in search of a healer. And that was how they found Bjorn, a Christian Dane who tended a small farm but was skilled and knowledgeable. He lived alone not far from a small sleepy village.

“Let’s see how our other Saxon is doing,” Bjorn said, rising up and shuffling over to the only bed in the small room. He leaned over Elfrich, unpinning the fabric folded under his amputated elbow and rolled it up to examine the healing. The skin was puckered and scalded but Bjorn clucked happily like his chickens at the results, whispering softly to Elfrich as he felt his forehead for a fever. Uhtred had been worried he wouldn’t make it but they trusted in the gods now -- it was not for men to decide their fate. 

Rypere got up to piss outside as Bjorn lastly inspected Roose’s face. The long slit from his mouth to his cheek bone was fierce looking; thick black stitches were etched into half his face but Bjorn seemed satisfied with the results.

“I think you are fit to travel,” the Christian said authoritatively, brushing his hands on his long tunic as he stood up,but there was an hint of pride in his voice.

“Oi Roose - I reckon you’ll look like Jorda now,” Finan smiled, his arm propped up along Elfrich’s low straw cot.

Jorda rolled his eyes as he leaned back against the wall. “It takes years of practice to look this good,” he said, rubbing the long scar that ran across the length of his face. The white scar danced across his brown skin and Jorda flashed a rare smile as Finan cackled.

Uhtred cracked a smile. Sleep, rest and medicine had done them wonders; they were alive and they were together.

The Dane Slayer stretched and walked outside, grimacing at his body’s soreness as he watched Rypere brush down their horses in the open stable nearby. The winds were shifting and the turning leaves were falling from the oak trees swaying in the sunlight.

“We’ve have at least a day’s ride ahead of us,” Finan said quietly from the doorway behind him.

“The gods have hidden us well,” Uhtred started, reflecting on how lucky they’d been. He was sure there were more Danes looking for them - Haeston would not be only one hunting Aethelflaed. “We need to know what is happening. We should have left sooner -“

“Elfrich never would have made it,” Finan interrupted Uhtred. “We are lucky to be alive. And we are stronger now.”

Uhtred nodded; he tried to push Aethelflaed’s face from his mind. She had swam in his dreams ever since the fever broke, as if her fingers could trace his brain as he slept. 

“If we leave now we might make it to Cumbraland by nightfall,” Finan said with a glance back to the horses.

Bjorn shuffled through the dirt towards them from his small neighbouring hut. He was holding a small cloth package and offered it to The Dane Slayer.

“Here are some ointments and herbs for your wounds and the others - Elfrich’s burn bandages need constant changing. He is most vulnerable to infection in the coming days,” Bjorn said gruffly. The man seemed almost sad as he handed his medicines over.

“Thank you Bjorn. We are indebted to you,” Uhtred said with a nod.

“Ah well it’s been many years since anyone has asked me for my help...” Bjorn’s sadness turned into a smile as he stretched his hands outward. “You’ve reminded me what I can do with these old hands of mine.”

Rypere had cut off Elfrich’s mangled and smashed arm himself; Finan had plunged the wound into the fire; Bjorn had ensured Elfrich’s survival.

Uhtred removed one of his own silver arm bands and placed it in the Dane’s hand as he grasped it.

“I will not forget it, my friend. I hope we will see each other again.”

 

*  
  


The sleepy town of Cumbraland was alive, bustling with people, horses and carts like a buzzing anthill, even in the darkness.

“There must be hundreds of people here,” Rypere said in awe as the men watched the town below them. Their day long ride had taken more time than expected and they’d hoped to arrive when the village was tucking in for a chilly night. Instead, it seemed to be waking up.

“We have to assume Sihtric and Osferth are here.” Uhtred paused; he didn’t mention the Lady Aethelflaed.

“We can’t all just go strolling through the streets looking for them dressed for battle Lord,” Finan murmured, mesmerised by the hustle and bustle as torches, candles and fires blazed throughout the town. “Everyone is out celebrating tonight... and I for one could use a drink.”

Uhtred smiled at his friend - they could all use a drink after the week they’d had.

“Rypere,” Uhtred directed, “take Roose, Elfrich and the horses straight to the palace stables. Bribe whoever you need to, stay hidden and keep watch. Finan, Jorda and I will go on foot and find out what’s happening. We will meet you there.”

The group descended from the hills and, as they reached the outskirts of Cumbraland, dismounted from their horses before splitting up. Uhtred pulled his cloak over Serpent Breath and kept the hood up as they walked through the the village and into the bustling town.

Tavern goers spilled out into the streets as men sang and women laughed, children scurrying underfoot and someone shouting for quiet.

“Am I missing something here —?” Finan asked quietly as he walked behind Uhtred. “Did Aethelred finally kick the bucket and we didn’t hear about it?” He smiled at his own joke.

Two men tumbled out of a doorway and almost collided with the Irishmen, who quickly caught a cup of ale from a flying hand as a brawl exploded between the two drunks. “Thank you!” Finan exclaimed, sipping on the ale with delight as he stepped around the fight to catch up with Uhtred and Jorda. He tossed the cup aside after he downed the drink with a satisfied gulp. 

As they neared the center of the town, they saw a small makeshift altar outside a house. It was alight with candles and offerings and several pious folks were knelt in prayer. Not far from the altar, the men passed a group of women whispering among themselves and the word “Aethelflaed” floated in the cool Autumn night air. The mood among Uhtred and his men shifted with a snap.

Jorda stopped a sour looking older woman walking past, shaking her head and muttering at the antics unfolding in the street.

“Can you tell me what is happening here?”

She looked startled by his question and the depth of his voice but seemed ready to unleash her complaints to whoever was listening.

“They’re here for the ceremony! Damn fools. It will take place in the square in two days!” She pointed behind Jorda towards the palace, illuminated by torches in a stretch of darkness. 

“What’s the celebration?” Jorda pressed.

“The Lady of Mercia’s sainthood. I thought living with Saint Cuthbert’s remains here was enough but Father Chancer is blessing her body himself — people have been arriving for days now and I expect they’ll keep coming — ”

Finan grasped Uhtred’s arm before his knees could buckle.

“ _No_ —“ Uhtred whispered, his voice choking in his throat.

“You’re sure the Lady is dead?” Finan interrupted the woman in the middle of her gossip and she glared at him.

“They’ve been drinking to her for days! Rumor has it she was murdered in battle but I don’t buy it - war is no place for a woman with honor —“

“Thank you,” mumbled Jorda as he spun on his heel and headed towards the palace, Finan half dragging Uhtred behind him.

The street to the palace was almost deserted save for an occasional rowdy shout from a passerby. In the shadows of quiet houses, Uhtred pressed his forehead to Finan’s, brothers grasping brothers, and he tried to catch his breath. He had kept this moment at bay for days, promising himself that she had to have survived, that he would keep his oath and see her to safety. She had trusted him - him above all else - and he had failed her.

The ground was spinning below him, the earth crunching under their feet and Uhtred blinked tears from his eyes as he screamed through gritted teeth.

“It’s not your fault -“ Finan started but Uhtred pushed away from him.

“It is. It is entirely my fault - she came for me, she trusted me to keep her safe from Aethelred. I chose for us to leave Wintchester, I chose for us to leave Dunholm, I chose to stay in the countryside, I knew Haesten would never stop,” he was spitting he was so angry. Jorda and Finan watched him as he unraveled in the street, gasping for air. “I wanted them to die, I wanted Aethelred and Haesten on a spike - I wanted to taunt them and I wanted revenge and instead the person I promised I would save is dead!”

His chest heaved as the words spilled from him and his brothers listened in silence. Only when it appeared his outburst was done did Jorda step forward and grab Uhtred by the forearm.

“You trust me with your life. I trust you with mine. Death is destiny,” Jorda’s voice rumbled in the darkness and Uhtred’s breathing slowed until it was calm.

“We need to find Osferth and Sihtric. They must be here,” Finan finally spoke and Uhtred nodded, grateful for the purpose.

They turned up the road toward the palace and the three men skirted in the shadows until they reached the palace stables. A few guards lingered in the light from the lit torches near the main building’s entrance but none noticed the intruders slip into the far side of the yard. Horses shifted in the darkness as Uhtred wandered through the stalls of the stables until he found their companions in a far corner.

Elfrich was resting on a bale of hay, his face twisted in pain, Roose kneeling beside him.

“Rypere,” Uhtred said quietly, focusing on the smaller man’s face as he stepped into the corner. “What have you heard?”

“Osferth and Sihtric are here but they’re in a cell Lord; Guthred has them in holding,” Rypere informed him. “Roose chatted up the guards under the guise that he’d travelled here from Mercia - Lord they’re saying - they’re saying the Lady Aethelflaed -“ Rypere stammered, unsure if he wanted to be the one to deliver the news.

“We heard,” Finan spoke before Uhtred had to. “How do we get to the cell?”

“It's in the depths of the palace-“ Rypere started but Uhtred cut him off with a hand on his arm.

“I will have to see Guthred.”

 

*

 

The large hall was slanted in light from torches hanging on the wall, illuminating several tapestries depicting war and saints. Religious trinkets and Christian crosses decorated various tables and benches. Guthred sat alone in the center of the room, several parchment papers spread out before him with books scattered about and a candle burning bright. He rubbed his forehead before taking a sip of his wine.

“Guthred my old friend,” Uhtred’s voice cut through the shadows as he stepped into the light.

Guthred spat out his wine as he frantically caught sight of Uhtred from the corner of his eye.

“Uh-Uhtred! What are you doing here?” The Christian king of the north sputtered. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed his chair back so he might flee, his body pulsing with anxiety.

“You know why I am here. You have my men,” Uhtred spoke softly, measured. Guthred watched him wearily. Uhtred was prone to murdering priests in his youth to get his way, there was no doubt he would lash out at a king. 

“They - they are here, yes. Only the young Dane is in our custody - he assaulted a priest -“

Guthred loved priests. He was bound to them for the word of his Christian god, Uhtred thought, instead of trusting his own self to listen to advice of the gods. 

“You can stop looking for your guards. They are not coming in here,” Uhtred interrupted as Guthred shrunk into his chair, suddenly unable to look elsewhere. 

Uhtred flipped Wasp Sting in his hand before chipping at a corner of the table with it.

“You heard of Gisela’s death?” He asked so softly it was almost a whisper.

"Yes - yes I did," the king stammered.

“And yet you did not answer my letter. You did not care?” Uhtred looked at the brother of his deceased wife with hatred in his eyes.

Guthred opened his mouth and then seemed to change his mind. “I was very sad to hear of her death.... How is the child?”

“She has given him her strength,” Uhtred allowed.

Guthred watched the knife pick away at the wood before he spoke again.

“Where is she buried?” 

“She is with the gods; our gods. She is not rotting away in the ground like an animal,” Uhtred spat and Guthred nodded meekly. 

Uhtred hated the king of the north; he had been chosen by a priest's vision to be a Christian Danish King - a man to unite kingdoms. But he had stolen years of Uhtred’s life with a betrayal the Dane Slayer could never forgive. Uhtred hated standing in this hall, hated the memories it gave him, hated that Gisela was dead and her traitor brother was sitting here still breathing.

Uhtred dragged the knife along the table until he leered over Guthred, the shadows dancing across his face. “You will take me to my men now.”

He pulled Guthred to his feet and pushed him forward. Finan and Jorda were outside the room having subdued several guards on their way into the palace, knocking them unconscious. They now followed weapons drawn as Uhtred and Guthred joined them, the king gingerly stepping over the sleeping bodies of his men.

Guthred led them down a series of hallways and stairwells until they reached a cold stone room below the ground level. Finan carried a torch as they passed several cells before they reached the end of a corridor which opened into a larger room with a barred cell, two lit torches and a bench.

“Uhtred!” Osferth was on his feet outside of the cell, standing in surprise at the sight of his Lord.

Sihtric was inside the bars, gripping them so his bloody knuckles glistened in the light, clearly relieved at the sight of Uhtred. “Lord,” he breathed.

“Release them,” Uhtred commanded. “We will be leaving.”

“I cannot - this man stabbed a priest - he must be punished-" Guthred started to protest but cowered as Finan lunged toward him, a fist raised in threat.

“You will do as the Lord Uhtred commands,” Finan growled.

“Lord,” Sihtric interrupted. “We cannot leave.”

Uhtred turned to him in surprise, glancing between the young monk and the Dane warrior. “Why? What has happened?”

Osferth looked worried and Sihtric took a deep breath before he changed Uhtred's life with a few words.

  
“The Lady Aethelflaed is alive. She is here and she is alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are so close to a reunion! This chapter took a bit to form and was more difficult to write as I needed to cover a lot of ground with Uhtred and his men - but ultimately really loved being able to show their journey, explore what happened to keep them from getting to Cumbraland and also have Uhtred confront Guthred about Gisela.


	27. Chapter 27

Brida pulled the furs tighter around her body and shifted closer to the fire. She sat atop a hillside outside of Dunholm and from here, she could see the fort’s torches burning bright in the night and the hundreds of encampments whose own fires circled it like an intricate constellation in the sky. Everyday more Danes arrived - everyone hungry for land and silver and the promise of Wessex. The night was ablaze with anticipation - their destiny was within sight.

She picked at the dirt embedded into her fingernails. Sometimes when the stars were this clear, the sky unmolested by dark clouds, she would think about her first weeks with Ragnar, when he returned from Ireland at the news of his father’s death and Uhtred chose not to join them. His first of many choices, she thought bitterly.

She had followed Young Ragnar and spent weeks gaining her sea legs abroad his ship. At night, he would come sit beside her as their vessel docked in the quiet river channels and they would talk of their childhoods, of their life before the fire took their family, of good memories. Brida would watch Ragnar speak for hours about the stars, the stories of their gods spread across the night like a blanket, and the more she listened to the roll of his voice crashing over her like the ocean’s shore, the closer she wanted to be to him.

“What are you doing up here woman?”

The voice crashed into her thoughts.

“I have told you many times to never call me woman,” she replied, snapping a small branch and tossing it into her fire.

Ragnar’s laugh boomed as he breathed heavy from his hike up the hill and laid down next to the flames.

“You have been avoiding me?” He asked with a smile. Always confident.

She scowled. “I do not want to be chased.”

“How can I chase what I already have?” He shifted onto his elbow so he could reach for her, his fingers sliding easily into the fabric at her hip. “It can’t be helped if you hide in our favorite place.”

“Ragnar,” her tone caused him to withdraw his hand and turn over on his back to look at the stars. His large hands rested on his stomach and he released a deep breath.

The silence stretched as Brida dug at the dirt with a broken twig before adding it to the fire. She did not understand the animal inside of her; she loved Ragnar, longed for his touch, to be at peace with him as they once were but she felt angry all the time. She pushed him away and she couldn’t control it. Brida felt like a child punishing herself sometimes. In her heart, Brida was a Dane - it didn’t matter where or to who she had been born. She hated the Saxons and their stupid god. She hated Uhtred for choosing Alfred over her and Ragnar.

She watched Ragnar’s chest rise and fall as he gazed at the stars and she thought about the first time they had laid next to each other on the ship so many years ago. The darkness had stretched out before them and she could feel the heaviness of sleep pushing down on her like a warm fur. She had taken Ragnar’s hand in her own as she leaned back on the bow of the ship until the stars were above her and his body followed hers. His breath against her neck was a new wind as his fingers traced her skin. Her hands now itched with an ache to pull herself against him in the grass.

“Bloodhair will leave with the Mercians tomorrow,” Ragnar’s rumbling voice interrupted her thoughts.

“They should be marching south with us,” Brida complained but knew she couldn’t change the plan.

“We will have to move soon; we cannot continue to feed these men without destroying our supplies for winter. Alfred will not expect an attack until Spring.” Ragnar continued. Brida had been avoiding the war councils but he needed her guidance.

“We should send scouts ahead of us south to spread the word,” Brida countered. “Danes are arriving each day but we need more and soon. The Mercians might never come back and Bloodhair will take too many of his men.”

“You think they will change their minds in Cumbraland or not succeed?” Ragnar asked as he propped his body up on an elbow.

“I think Aethelred is not to be trusted,"  Brida sidestepped the question. “And Uhtred needs his balls cut off.” 

"Do you think he is there -- in Cumbraland?"  
  
Brida shrugged. "If he is alive he will be as close to Alfred as possible. Even if it's with a dead princess." 

Ragnar stared into the distance across Dunholm, the great fort he commanded, and his lands.

“Will we ever be satisfied?” He asked softly, seemingly to himself as if pondering the army they were building.

“Men are never satisfied,” Brida responded honestly. “But I think when Alfred and the Saxons are gone we will have more peace.”

“If men are never satisfied then how can there be peace?” Ragner scoffed.

“Because women should rule,” Brida shrugged, standing up and brushing the dirt from her pants

Ragnar laughed and pushed himself to his feet as well. “Spoken like a true woman.”

It was a phrase Estrid liked to use. Ragnar spent so much time with her he was bound to pick up her jokes but it reminded Brida of something.

“I haven’t seen Estrid since the other night,” Brida said, gathering up her furs. “I was hoping to ask for her help.”

Brida needed someone other than Ragnar to talk with about the wounded beast inside her chest and Estrid was the only one she trusted. Brida also wanted to know what Ragnar and Estrid had talked about at the war council - she knew they weren’t sleeping together but she still felt a pang of jealousy that Ragnar often trusted Estrid with information he didn’t always share with Brida.

Ragnar pushed the dirt over the fire with his boot and the smoke hissed. He seemed engrossed with putting out the coals.

“Do you know where she is?” Brida asked as the light was eliminated at their feet, slowly plunging them into darkness.

“She wanted to visit her village up the coast so I let her go,” Ragnar said. “She will be back in a few days.”

“You let your best shield maiden leave just before we march into battle?” Brida asked, skeptical.

“We will not be in battle for weeks, maybe months,” Ragnar responded as they made their way down the hill towards the fort.

“Wasn’t she just there when Uhtred was here?” Brida asked. She had known Estrid a long time, known how close she was with her family but she was surprised. It was not the decision she would have made as a leader but she was not, Brida reminded herself, the leader.

Ragnar shrugged. “Her father is ill - she did not know if he would be alive when we returned from Wessex.” He always had a soft spot for Estrid. Brida sighed as they grew quiet, their boots crunching the ground in the darkness.

They walked in silence for a stretch before they reached the light of Dunholm’s eastern gate. The torch’s shadows spread across Ragnar’s face and Brida watched as the darkness danced under his cheekbones until her lover looked like a demon in the light.

  
*

  
Uhtred stepped over Jorda’s sleeping body, holding his breath as he reached for the door. As he turned to close it quietly behind him, he caught sight of Finan watching him. Uhtred hesitated briefly before nodding to his brother, silently shutting the door and releasing his breath.

Sihtric’s revelation that Aethelflaed was alive had been pulsing inside of Uhtred ever since he heard the words. He had wanted proof - to see her straight away - but the Lady’s healer had refused any and all visitors flat out. The woman, Nirida Sihtric had called her, was a fierce woman and Uhtred relented for the time being. Besides there were details to sort out, arrangements to be made and arguments to have with Guthred in the morning. They had agreed for Uhtred’s men to stay in the grounds and for a council to take place the next day regarding both Sihtric’s, who remained locked up in his cell for now, and Lady Aethelflaed’s fates.

Roose and Elfrich were now under Nirida’s care tonight while the other men shared servant living quarters near the kitchens. Sihtric had promised that Aethelfaed had received good care and that she was healing but Uhtred needed to see her for himself.

The hallways were quiet and dim as Uhtred slipped silently up the back stairwell; it was past midnight and his exhausted men had passed out not long after they’d tucked in. He could feel his heartbeat as he walked the corridor Osferth had told him about and slowed as he reached the third door.

He paused.

Uhtred placed his hand on the door handle, breathed deep and pushed it open. He slipped into the room and closed the door softly after him.

His eyes adjusted from the dark hallway to the candles alight on a small table in the room and a fire burning in the hearth across from a large bed.

And there on the bed was Aethelflaed, sitting up with her back to the wall, staring back at him.

 

*

  
The silence stretched like hours between them but it must only have been seconds.

Was this another dream? No. She pinched at the skin on her arm. It couldn’t be.

Aethelflaed had been in and out of consciousness for two days, drifting into sleep at strange hours, but was capable of holding a conversation with Sihtric and answering questions from Nirida. She hadn’t seen Sihtric since yesterday and she had started to grow anxious wondering if something had happened to him. She thought it might be him with some urgent news of the outside world when a man had stepped into her room in the middle of the night. She almost called his name in the darkness to ask if it was him but then the figure turned to look at her.

Her eyes swallowed Uhtred as if she had never seen him before. He stood tall and stoic, his body silhouetted in the fire light and they drank each other in.

“Aethelflaed,” he finally breathed her name. He had not moved and she wished he would come closer.

“Lord Uhtred,” she whispered. Oh to say his name and have him hear it. Oh to be alive.

There were short footsteps suddenly at the door —

“Quick,” she hissed and Uhtred stepped against the wall as the door swung open in front of him, hiding him from view.

Nirida’s small body bustled into the room.

“You should be asleep Lady,” the woman scolded, leaning over Aethelflaed to feel her forehead.

“I couldn’t sleep — I was hoping the water would be ready by now for a bath,” she replied. Nirida poked at her arm wound before nodding.

The pagan healer checked the hearth and once again lifted a large pot that had been left hanging for the better part of an hour in the fire. The woman shuffled over to the wooden water basin in the corner of the room and tipped the boiling water into the existing contents. The steam rose from the bath as she plopped the pot down.

“Should be plenty warm for you now, Lady. I shall come back to help you with your wound dressing —“ Nirida started but Aethelflaed shook her head.

“I’ll be fine — you’ve had a long exhausting day, please rest. It will feel good to soak in the heat and I’ll be able to tend to myself.”

Nirida hesitated. She now had additional wounded patients to tend to.

“Alright. I’ll come check on you in the morning then,” the older woman promised.

As she shut the door behind her, Uhtred’s rigged frame was revealed, his dagger in hand. He breathed a sigh of relief, his chest heaving.

“That woman is not to be trifled with.”

Aethelflaed smiled, “If you didn’t have a habit of turning up in a lady’s room at midnight, you wouldn’t have been in danger of being caught.”

“I could not wait until morning to see you,” he responded.

There was somehow so much distance between them; his body still pressed against the wall. Did he think about the last time they saw each other as much as she did? Did he regret kissing her? 

“What’s happened? How did you get here? Sihtric told me what he knew but — ” She paused, her fingers played with the soft furs on the bed. “We did not know if you were dead,” she whispered, her eyes lowered.

Uhtred let out a heavy sigh and slid down the wall so he sat with his back to it, as if the weight of his words was too much to hold while standing.

“In truth, I am not sure where to start —“ he began.  
  
“Haeston?” She asked quickly. It was what Sihtric could not answer.

“He is dead,” he nodded, his fingers lacing together over his knees.

She bit her lip. She did not rejoice in death but her heart pounded in celebration — she was free from one enemy and she was grateful. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Uhtred face twisted in pain. “How could you thank me when it is I who put you in Haeston’s path? I put you in danger.” His voice was a dagger, dangerous and quietly sharp. “You asked me to keep you safe and I failed.”

She shook her head. “No - this was not your fault — he would have haunted me — he would never have given up— “ she raised her voice slightly as he tried to protest. “It is I who have endangered all of you. Or at least Aethelred who has truly put all of our lives in danger.”

Uhtred let out an angry laugh. “Yes at the very least it is Aethelred’s fault. He will owe Elfrich an arm then.”

“What?” She gasped. “Is he-?”

“He’s alive. We all are actually. The gods have been good. But we are not all whole,” he touched the left side of his abdomen but did not elaborate so she did not ask.

“Finan saved me,” she said finally. “I remember little but Sihtric told me... I would not be alive if not for him. I do not know how to ever thank him.”

Uhtred stared off into the flames of the fire as she spoke, letting the silence build.

“He is too good to me,” he whispered so quietly she wasn’t sure she heard him correctly.

Aethelflaed leaned back against the pillows on her bed, watching the Dane Slayer as the light played across his face. Something inside her ached to run her fingers along the shaved edge of his scalp. It was a texture she suddenly longed for.

“Does it hurt?” He asked softly.

“What?”

“Your arm.” He turned to look at her.

She frowned. “Yes. Sometimes it feels like my skin is on fire and then sometimes everything aches which makes it is easier to ignore the pain in one place.”

“Everything aches?”

He shifted to push himself up off the floor and tentatively moved to sit on the edge of the bed. She tucked her legs carefully as he sat next to her.

“To say I am bruised is an understatement, “ she admitted. Her ribs were purpled in bruises, she was covered in shallow cuts and scrapes, and had sprained her ankle. “I look like a true warrior now.”

Uhtred’s eyes roamed her as if looking for broken pieces and briefly his fingers brushed her arm as he reached for her bandage but then seemed to think better of himself and withdrew. He paused as if deep in thought.

“I believed you were dead until a few hours ago,” he admitted.

Aethelflaed stared back at him. She heard the echo of Aethelred’s voice in her nightmare.

“I am not dead Lord,” she said.

“No,” he smiled and breathed deep. “No you are not.”

Uhtred shifted closer and her heart rose in her chest. The room was so quiet she was sure he could hear her pulse banging in her ears.

His jaw tightened as his eyes shifted from her gaze to her lips. She noticed he had new scars, memories of battles he would carry with him. She reached out and gently brushed a scab across the edge of his forehead before letting her hand fall back in her lap. He watched her silently.

Aethelflaed had spent years learning to be brave but this man - he scared her in new ways. His gaze seared through her. He had witnessed her darkest moments, he knew so many of her painful secrets and now her mind raced with new fears she did not want to or know how to admit. Did he think of her as she had begun to think of him? Could he?

He reached out a hand and his fingers stroked her cheek before his thumb brushed across her bottom lip. She closed her eyes; she did not want to wake up from this dream.

“Are you crying?” He asked.

Her eyes flew open. “No Lord,” she whispered as he brushed a hot tear from the edge of her face. “I am thanking the gods you are here.”

Uhtred leaned in and she felt a new world shift in her bones as her mouth met his. His lips were soft and slow as his fingers wound their way around her jaw, pulling her into him. He smelled like sweat and smoke as she breathed him in - his kisses were long and gentle, as if savoring every moment.

Her hands found his chest - her fingers tracing the soft tunic and the strength of his body underneath the fabric as she opened her mouth and his tongue slipped inside her. Something deep in Aethelflaed turned over, a pull she hadn’t felt in years. She moaned involuntary and he broke their kiss, panting, his forehead pressed against hers.

The pause stung - embarrassment flared inside of her - as his hands held her head against his while the sound of their breathing filled the room.

“Uhtred—“ she whispered and she didn’t know if she was begging him to leave or to stay but her voice broke the silence and he pulled her mouth back to his before she could say anything more.

He moved as if the room was on fire, his mouth pulsing against hers, his hands in her hair - he wanted her. _He wanted_ _her_. The understanding broke over her like a fever and she moved onto her knees, never breaking their kiss. She cupped his jaw in her hands as she shifted her body over his and straddled his lap, her long nightgown shifting higher on her thighs, her teeth biting his lower lip. He moaned and she wanted to be the cause of his joy, the source of his desire. His hands wandered with new permission as her long hair fell around him. Uhtred kept one hand on her jaw as his other hand slipped down, grazing her breast through her nightgown before grasping her side —

She pulled back in pain and moaned in agony. It was painful suddenly to breathe but she gasped for breath.

“What - Aethelflaed - did I hurt you?” Uhtred’s face was flushed with concern.

She shifted back from his body as she realized the pain suddenly shooting through her limbs. “It’s just - my ribs,” she gasped. Her body was flushed with wanting but suddenly searing with a new heat. 

“Your ribs?” He asked as she scooted back to the pillows with a painful movement. She nodded.

Her whole body began to ache and she realized the adrenaline had momentarily masked the hurt - she’d hardly moved since she woke up two days ago. Her chest pounded as her breathing began returning to normal.

“Do you need medicine? Should I get Nirida?” Uhtred watched her concerned, unmoving from his place on the bed.

Aethelflaed flashed a tight smile, “And risk her murdering you? No, I will be alright.”

They lapsed into awkward silence as she longed for the pain to go away. Nirida would truly cut off his manhood if Uhtred appeared in the middle of the night — Aethelflaed paused mid-thought. Nirida. The bath. She was suddenly desperate to release the ache echoing through her.

“Could you help me to the bath?” The Lady of Mercia asked.

“Of course,” Uhtred said, standing up. He carefully put his arm under her uninjured one, helping shift her to her feet. She had only walked briefly around the room a few times since she had woken up and it was difficult to maneuver on her ankle.

His touch was gentle as she leaned against him to hobble across the room before releasing his grasp at the edge of the wooden bath. She breathed a sigh of relief as her fingers plunged into the warm water, steam still slowly rising from the tub.

“I’ll leave you Lady, if it pleases you,” Uhtred said from behind her. 

Aethelflaed watched the fire’s light glint off the water.

“No Lord,” she replied softly. “That would not please me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter we have been waiting for: I have known what this reunion would look like for months now and have been working so hard to get us here! This is the fastest I have written a chapter in a long time and I couldn't wait to share it with all of you. Thanks for sticking with me so far on this adventure - we are no where finished with this story yet and I appreciate all of the encouragement, likes and comments!


	28. Chapter 28

There were no windows in the holding cells so Sihtric was surprised by the mid-morning light when the guards led him from the depths of the palace and into the main hall. It had been a long night in the darkness with the sounds of rats scurrying to keep him company, unknowing what the day would bring but he was sure Guthred would make it difficult. 

King Guthred was seated at a long wooden table in the center of the great hall with Uhtred standing at the other end of it. Unlit candles and several stacks of parchment scattered the table. Father Chancer stood behind Guthred red faced and rubbing his jaw. He shot Sihtric a look of pure loathing as the Dane entered before he turned his gaze away. Finan nodded to Sihtric as he was led in to stand flanked by the guards a few feet from the table, his wrists bound together behind his back. Osferth chewed on a thumbnail from behind Uhtred, nervously watching Father Chancer. 

Uhtred glanced at Sihtric before sighing. 

“We cannot speak of what we need to with your guards here.” 

“We are not your subjects to order around!” Chancer yelled, pointing a finger at the Dane Slayer.

Sihtric raised an eyebrow. Tensions were already high.

“You are the one who requested Sihtric be brought here to speak of the charges against him — but it cannot be discussed without compromising the memory and dignity of the Lady of Mercia… may she rest in peace.”” Uhtred chose his words carefully, staring at Guthred. 

Guthred rubbed his chin as a pregnant pause built in the room. He did not want to be outnumbered and unguarded, even if his guards were stationed throughout the hallways. His eyes flickered around the room.

“Hand your weapons to my men and they will stand at the door,” he conceded. “Your man,” Guthred pointed at Finan, “can wait outside.”

Uhtred handed Serpant’s Breath and Wasp Sting to Finan who followed the guards to the large double doors and those gathered waited in silence until the door shut with an ominous echo.

“Your Dane here is charged with attempting to murder a holy man of god,” Guthred said nodding towards the priest.

“Are we pretending this is a man of god?” Uhtred asked pointing at Father Chancer, his tone dripping with mockery. The priest’s face flushed in anger.

“He is a man of god, a respected man who is my closest council, and your sworn warrior stabbed him right in front of me. He must be punished -“ Guthred said raising his voice.

“Why did you stab this holy piece of weasel shit?” Uhtred turned to Sihtric, ignoring Guthred.

“Lord he - he said the Lady Aethelflaed’s funeral needed to go ahead - he wanted to end -“ Sihtric hesitated, “He suggested that she would not recover and that her suffering should be ended. So they could proceed with the ceremony.” 

Uhtred stared at him for several seconds unblinking before turning to Osferth. 

  
“This is true?”

Osferth was chewing on the skin of his finger now and dropped his eyes as the room’s gaze fell on him. “Yes Lord.”

“Uhtred! No!” Guthred pushed back his chair as the Dane Slayer rounded on the priest, striding towards him with fury.

Father Chancer shuffled backwards with defiance on his face, clutching at the wound on his left side as he moved. “She is to be made a saint!”

“Your plan was to murder the daughter of a king so you could make her a saint?” Uhtred’s anger was a low earthquake through the room as Chancer danced to the other side of the table.

“Her injuries are too serious and she was unconscious for days - it was the merciful will of God — “ Father Chancer sputtered. 

“Lord - “ Osferth’s quiet voice broke through the scrapping of chairs and benches and Uhtred steadied himself, breathing deeply. He picked at the parchment on the table as the tension built, shuffling the messy pile, before his fingers landed on a small silver knife for slicing open letters. He twirled the thin blade against the table top; Guthred’s eyes became narrowed slits watching the light flash against the silver. 

“Sihtric... would you say you stabbed Father Chancer in defence of the Lady of Mercia?” Uhtred asked.

“Yes Lord,” Sihtric replied. “I told King Guthred if anything was to happen to her, I would kill his priest.” 

“True?” The Dane Slyer turned to Guthred.

Guthred shrugged in frustration, “Yes but -“

“Sihtric was fulfilling destiny and you tried to murder the daughter of King Alfred of Winchester?” Uhtred scoffed. “I think you should not stand in the way of destiny Lord.”

“This heathen speaks of the devil’s work!” Father Chancer shouted before turning to Sihtric and grabbing him by the shoulder. “This man should hang for what he did to me!”

“This man has saved your life -“ Uhtred said softly.

“He tried to kill me!” Howled Father Chancer. 

Uhtred flicked his wrist so fast it was difficult to see where the blade went until the priest gasped, gawking at the small handle protruding from the front of his right shoulder. 

“You-“ Chancer tried to speak but Uhtred had moved too quickly, one hand was on the letter opener and the other gripping the priest’s throat to keep him steady. Guthred was on his feet, mouth agape.

“This man has saved your life because if he had not already dug his blade into your flesh I would have killed you the moment I discovered your intentions to harm the Lady of Mercia.” The Dane Slayer pulled out the little blade slowly from Chancer’s arm as he leaned closer.

“I have a habit of murdering Guthred’s priests,” Uhtred smiled with his teeth. “But… I will spare your life if you will host the funeral. Without a body to bury.” 

Chancer was seething with anger, his plump cheeks pulsing with his foul breath but it was Guthred who spoke first, his words puzzling over the situation.

“You want us to still host the celebration of life and anoint the Lady of Mercia a saint without showing her body to the hundreds of people gathered to see her?” 

Uhtred shrugged. 

“It would be a bit - traumatic - to show a royal woman’s body mutilated by pagans in war to god fearing Christians...” he wiped the blood on the letter opener’s blade onto Father Chancer’s long robes. “The world must continue to believe she is dead. It is the only way she will survive - the Danes hunting her will not give up unless there is no doubt that she is not alive.”

Sihtric watched Guthred’s annoyed anger slowly dissolve only to be replaced with annoyed resolve. 

“If you do not, for some reason, yet fear Alfred’s wrath, you most certainly should fear mine,” Uhtred Ragnarsson said quietly.

“And your man?” Father Chancer whispered through gritted teeth, tentatively dabbing at the fresh wound in his shoulder before examining the blood on his fingers.

“He has served King Alfred most faithfully - I imagine he will be rewarded with a title and lands upon our return to Winchester,” Uhtred responded. 

Sihtric bit his lip to hide his smile. It was widely rumoured that Uhtred had abandoned Alfred and joined the Danes but he was playing on his years of servitude to the Saxon king, irrefutable allegiance to Aethelflaed and long history with Guthred to ensure they believed what he said. In truth, Sihtric himself was unsure where Uhtred’s loyalties lied sometimes but it was not his place to question the man he’d sworn an oath to. 

Uhtred walked back to the table to set down the small blade and nodded to Osferth, who quickly walked over to Sihtric and untied his hands. 

“We will stay only long enough to ensure the Lady Aethelflaed is well enough to travel. She will remain hidden in her room and only her nurse Nirida is to tend to her.” Uhtred paused as Sihtric rubbed his wrists. “To the world outside of this room she is dead and she will remain dead. You will celebrate her, anoint her a saint and bury an empty box. And we will never speak of it again.” 

 

*

 

Finan stepped out the door as the rain poured off the roof of the palace in streams, pooling in the small courtyard of the kitchen. Behind him a fire burned in the hearth of the kitchen though the servants had long already disappeared for the night. The men had taken up residence in an empty room adjacent to the kitchens, which provided ample opportunity to knick extra food and also slip outside easily to keep watch. Rypere spent his time in the stables, tending to their horses and Jorda had started patrolling the town, listening for information and reporting back. There were hundreds of people gathered in Cumberland, every inn was full and the taverns burst forth every evening in anticipation of the upcoming ceremony. It felt as though the town could burst into chaos at any moment. 

Tomorrow would be the public funeral for the Lady of Mercia, where she would be anointed a saint and buried in a cemetery just outside of the town’s borders. A good Christian burial. Finan rubbed the back of his neck as he thought about the night he and Hild had helped Uhtred dig up Gisela’s body and send her to the heavens. It was, in truth, how this new life had begun. Breaking sacred ground had been the root of Uhtred’s exit from Winchester and here he was: willing to break ground again and bury an empty box. Finan smiled at the thought of the oaf Father Chancer having to lie in the name of his god; a worthy punishment for plotting the murder for a king’s daughter. 

Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the tree branches swaying in the wind along the border of the palace courtyard. For half a heartbeat, Finan thought he saw a flash of something or someone near the far wall but the rain fell in buckets and by the next lightning strike, the courtyard was assuredly empty. He waited, his breath puffing in the cold night air, listening for anything but the rain splattering around him.

“Finan!” Sihtric called from inside the doorway. “We’re ready.”

The Irishman glanced around at the dark courtyard before he stepped into the warmth of the kitchens. Osferth hovered near the open door to the unused servant quarters they had been sleeping in. Roose and Elfrich sat together on a bench, leaning against a table top, their injuries already showing some healing. Rypere stood at the bottom of a short set of stairs that led up to the main palace while Jorda leaned against a hutch across the room. Sihtric faced Uhtred who stood in front of the hearth, the fire illuminating his figure. Finan hovered not far from Jorda, a few feet from the entrance way that led to the courtyard.

Uhtred chewed thoughtfully on a stick as he looked at his men. “Tomorrow morning is the ceremony for Lady Aethelflaed. Father Chancer will give a sermon — Jorda what have you heard in town?”

Jorda looped his thumb through the sword belt across his chest; an old habit, thought Finan. “There are many rumours claiming Alfred himself will be present, claims that Frankish princes are travelling here to pay their respect. I think the gossip will work in our favour — a simple claim spreads like wildfire and those witnesses tomorrow will travel back through the countryside boasting of their attendance at a royal burial. But there will be hundreds of people Lord.”

Uhtred nodded, “Tomorrow will be a dangerous day. But perhaps an opportunity to slip north unnoticed with the hoards of people dispersing soon after - a chance for the Lady Aethelflaed to go north."

Osferth cleared his throat, his brow furrowed. Finan knew he didn’t like to speak in front of the group.

“Will the Lady be well enough to travel?”

In truth, Finan was wondering the same thing. He hadn’t yet had a chance to speak to Aethelflaed — she was forbidden to leave her room and sneaking her medicine, food and care was a new routine Nirida and Sihtric undertook under the guise that they were preparing the body for the funeral. 

“She is still in a lot of pain,” Sihtric admitted. “But I don’t know that we have another option. The Lady is willing to do whatever she needs to to escape undetected.” He looked momentarily embarrassed to be speaking on behalf of a woman of royalty but Finan knew he and Aethelflaed had developed a friendship. Survival changes people.

“Our hospitality with Guthred is short lived — we need to make a move before he changes his mind about protecting the Lady Aethelflaed’s secret and we need to put distance between us and the Danes,” Uhtred replied, tossing his stick into the flames in the hearth. 

“You will have a big army to get past.”

The voice broke through the room and everyone moved at once; swords unsheathed, bodies rising to attention.

Finan spun around with his heart pounding in frustration — _damn Guthred’s guards_ — he’d known someone was in the courtyard and he had doubted his instincts. His sword was in hand and drawn before he even registered that Jorda’s ax was already at the intruder’s throat. The Irishman was so angry with himself he hadn’t even paid attention to the fact that the intruder was a woman until he reached to remove her ax from her belt.

She was dressed for battle and soaking wet; a long white-blonde braid whipped over her shoulder, half her scalp was shaved. There was no doubt she was a Dane. She seemed to only have eyes for Uhtred as Finan threw her weapons to the ground, his sword pointed at her body.

The Irishman glanced back at his Lord and was surprised to see Uhtred staring at the woman as if he had seen a ghost. 

“And whose army might that be?” The Dane Slayer asked. 

The woman wiped water from her forehead.

“Aethelred with the Mercians. 

And Bloodhair.”

Uhtred’s gaze was unflinching, his brow furrowed in thought as he took in her information. 

“Fucking hell,” Finan murmured under his breath. 

The woman glanced at him, her eyes sharp as if she hadn’t even paid attention to his presence before he spoke despite his blade pointed at her body. But she only turned back to Uhtred as his expression turned to puzzlement. 

“Which of them sent you?” 

She hesitated. 

“The one who still loves you.” 

Uhtred rubbed a hand down his face, taking in the information and breathing deep.

Finan glanced back and forth between the Dane woman and the Dane Slayer before speaking.

“Lord — can ye tell us what the hell is going on?”

Uhtred laughed to himself before leaning against the top of the table in front of him and gesturing to the intruder. 

“This — this is Ragnar’s greatest shield maiden. Estrid.” 

The men all turned and stared at her. 

Estrid put a hand gently against the handle of Jorda’s ax, pushing the blade slowly away from her throat so she could step further into the room. Finan and Jorda cautiously took a few steps back but did not sheath their weapons.

“The Danes are marching south for Alfred — to take Winchester — “ Estrid started.

“Now? Winter is coming,” Sihtric said in surprise.

Estrid paused. Finan thought he saw annoyance flash across her face. 

Uhtred sighed. “They want the element of surprise. It’s risky.” He paused, staring at Estrid. “Why would he send you here? They must be marching soon.” 

Estrid hesitated. She didn’t want to give all of the plans away. 

“News of the Lady of Mercia’s death and her body being in Cumberland changed the plan. Bloodhair believes you’re here. And Aethelred wants to carry his wife’s dead body with him into Winchester.”

She glanced around the room. “But that will be difficult seeing that she’s alive and you’re the ones hiding her.”

Sihtric made a quick movement towards her, raising his short sword, as if he meant to knock her with the hilt of his weapon. Estrid grabbed his elbow and spun his arm fast, grabbing the sword as his wrist went slack in pain. Her knee was on his chest as he hit the floor on his back and she put the sword against his throat. The other men in the room had moved quickly, surrounding the Dane with their weapons but she kept her weapon tight on Sihtric as she looked up at Uhtred. He stared at her seriously.

“No one can know.” He said it simply.

She glanced around at the array of blades encircling her before conceding a slight nod and standing slowly. Finan helped Sihtric to his feet as Jorda took the sword from Estrid.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” she said breaking the silence. “I came here on Ragnar’s orders. He —“ she paused, trying to find the right words. “He wanted to give you a chance to survive. Bloodhair is not the same man Haesten was. And he comes with the full force of Mercia alongside him. Ragnar — he regrets the way things ended when you left Dunholm. I am to deliver my message and return to him. That is all.”

Uhtred gave a short tight smile. “And I thank you for that. You have upheld my brother’s honour. You always have…” he paused before nodding to Finan. 

Estrid’s face twisted in anger as Finan grabbed her left arm, quickly bound it to her right and guided her to a bench at the table Uhtred had taken a seat at. She shifted her arms, yanking them away from the Irishman’s grasp, protesting his touch with a growl.

“Jorda — check the perimeter to make sure she travelled alone. Rypere — search for her horse.” The Dane Slayer scratched the side of his face as he watched Estrid scowl.

“It is good to see you again my friend. But since you know our secret… I do not think we can allow you to return to Ragner as planned.”


End file.
